


Intrinsic

by moonside



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: ABO, Alpha Noctis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Promptis - Freeform, Sex Toys, Unrequited Love, brotherhood era promptis, omega Prompto, slutty!Prompto, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonside/pseuds/moonside
Summary: Prompto indulges a fantasy. He can't have it, not really; Noct's not his. He's an alpha prince, heir to the throne. Prompto's a lonely, omega nobody.But when he's alone, he can pretend, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags lol this is kinda gross, you have been warned.

It’s a _stupid_ thing to say, really.

 

Noctis is Prompto’s best friend. That’s their dynamic, and _that’s_ how it’s gonna be. Prompto has long since accepted that. And okay, even if he has a little bit of a crush – just a _little_ one- it’s not going anywhere. It can’t. Noctis is the prince, and that means he’s going to be king, that he’ll have way more important things to do than hang out with his best friend.

 

Prompto will probably get to join his guard or something, but still—that’s all he can hope for. A lifetime of friendship and _not_ getting outright totally left behind.

 

Still, sometimes he manages to confess way more than that without even trying, and it’s always awkward and embarrassing as all hell.

 

They’re sitting at one of their usual haunts, a greasy old burger joint not too far from school. They’d _planned_ for the evening to go their favourite kind of way, with Prompto heading over to Noct’s afterwards, so that they could curl up on the couch together and play a new video game they were both excited about.

 

Naturally, Ignis – Noct’s forever-loyal advisor – had swiftly put an end to those plans, with a sinister text telling him that he had _homework_ to attend to, and _royal duties,_ and something about studying notes from a board meeting the week before, things that made Prompto’s head spin and his stomach drop.

 

“Fuck that,” Noctis grumbles, as he reaches across the table to steal one of Prompto’s fries. It’s a pure evil little annoyance, of course; Noct has plenty of his _own_ fries left. (He always says Prompto’s taste better, in a stupid, dorky way that makes Prompto’s stomach flutter.)

 

“Price you pay for bein’ the prince,” Prompto replies, as brightly as he can to mask his own disappointment. The last thing he wants is for Noctis to feel guilty about it all. It’s not his fault. It’s just—with how busy they’ve both been lately, with how fucking _haywire_ Prompto’s hormones have been, they haven’t seen each other that much lately.

 

A good deal of that is Prompto’s fault. Most days, he doesn’t mind being an omega and having a (ridiculously gorgeous) alpha best friend, but… it makes things like _heats_ tricky. Especially since he already has the world’s biggest crush. His stomach does another flutter at the mere thought, and quickly, he’s reaching out to swat Noct’s hand away.

 

“Dude, I don’t _want_ to be the prince,” Noctis retorts, his brow furrowing, as if they haven’t had this conversation a million times already. They have. But, venting seems to help Noct cope, and that’s all Prompto ever wants; to help.

 

“You say that,” Prompto teases airily, and he returns the favour by sneaking his own hand across the table to snag a handful of Noct’s fries. His best friend rolls his eyes; under the table, his toe nudges into Prompto’s shin. Fuck. His belly does a flip, and Prompto’s pretty sure his cheeks are flushing, beneath the freckles.

 

Breathe deep, Prompto. Don’t betray anything.

 

“Just think, Noct,” Prompto continues, his voice – thankfully – even. “You weren’t prince, you wouldn’t have the fancy condo, or all the nice stuff, or that _amazing_ car…”

 

Noctis rolls his eyes. Admittedly, he’s spoiled rotten, and they both know it. Even with Noct’s slightly hedonistic streak, though, he’s a good person. He can be bratty at times – he’s _such_ a sore loser – but at the end of the day? They both know he’s paying a price for everything he has. It’s just easier to tease, to make light of the subject.

 

Normally, Noctis would respond with a biting comment about how he wished Ignis would actually _let_ them drive his fancy car more often.

 

Instead, Noct’s sighing, chewing thoughtfully on his fries. Then, head tipped to the side, chin resting on a hand, he admits. “… you know what it means, though. I’m gonna have to marry some random person I don’t care about. Being king means I gotta make _heirs_ someday, Prom. I repeat this stupid cycle, and I don’t want to have kids with some person I don’t even know—”

 

He breaks off, and just as he does, Prompto says about the dumbest thing he could possibly _ever_ say. He blurts out the first thought that comes to mind, as he so often does, despite his careful concealing of that stupid, massive crush of his.

 

“Hey, _I’m_ an omega. How ‘bout you just have babies with me?”

 

It’s a total _tease,_ but is it really? Immediately, Prompto’s stomach leaps into his throat. His fingers tremble and he drops the fry he was holding delicately. Eyes widening slightly, cheeks flushing, he sits back in his chair.

 

“… I mean. Haha, funny. Gotta be better than a stranger, though, huh?” Prompto laughs awkwardly, as if that doesn’t make things even _weirder._

 

Noctis doesn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes dark and narrowed, intent as he scrutinizes his best friend. _Fuck,_ Prompto’s thinking, his inner-monologue frantic, _you’re an idiot. He’s gonna realize what’s up and he’s going to leave and you’ve lost your only friend—_

 

“Y’know,” Noctis replies, after a moment, though, and his voice is light, like he’s trying to dismiss it, to laugh it off. Prompto knows his best friend, though, and he recognizes a hint of _something_ in that tone, though. “… we’d probably be pretty good parents. We get along. We’re best friends, we like all the same stuff…”

 

Noctis hesitates, before adding, quietly, “… we both know what _not_ to do.”

 

Prompto’s having trouble breathing, because in his mind, he’s trying not to justify this as a real confession. It’d been a joke, but suddenly, it doesn’t seem so bad. Even if Noctis _can’t,_ even if he’ll need a partner who is of proper status to be married to the crown prince—well, his best friend hadn’t thought it was totally weird. That means something, right?

 

“Well, when you’re thirty and rejected every potential suitor in the whole world, I’ll be here!” Prompto teases, chipper, and thank fucking god, they laugh it off and things go back to being the normal level of weird, with Prompto’s lingering crush, and a few meaningful glances exchanged.

 

If only.

 

\---

 

Prompto hates how _obsessive_ he gets, especially about anything involving Noctis.

 

Noct had inevitably ended up going back to his place, and reluctantly, Prompto had headed home for the evening. His parents are away on business. When _aren’t_ his parents away on business? Prompto used to resent them, but he has Noctis now, and he doesn’t quite feel so lonely anymore. Besides, he’s at the age where having the house to himself, constantly, is a _very_ nice freedom.

 

He knows, in theory, that male omegas can get pregnant. They glossed over it in health class, though, and further research tells him, it happens but… it’s rarer. Well. That’s a bit of a downfall. There’s still some stigma surrounding being a male omega, too, but Insomnia is progressive. Noct has never cared about that. He’d realized it before Prompto himself even had – he’d been a late bloomer – and one day, they’d been particularly close, cuddled up on the couch, when Noctis had leaned over, buried his face in Prompto’s neck, and admitted, “… fuck, you smell good.”

 

His heat had come not so long after that, and Prompto’s been _very_ pointedly ignoring Noctis for a couple of days during his cycle ever since. It’s too risky. He’s harbored that pesky crush for so long, and the hormones just make it unbearable. The _last_ thing Prompto wants is to force anything on Noctis, and a fully hormonal omega, in the midst of heat cramps, presenting themselves and begging for a knot… well.

 

He’d die if he coerced Noctis into something he didn’t want.

 

It’s not even his heat right now. That had been last week, but Prompto can’t get the idea out of his head. It’s _possible_ for his body to carry a royal baby. Unlikely, and he’s pretty sure it’s all a huge joke anyway, but Noctis hadn’t been entirely grossed out by the idea.

 

It’d be doing Noct a favour, right? He didn’t _want_ some stranger having his heir.

 

“I have some fucked up fantasies,” Prompto murmurs to nobody in particular. His cat, curled up at the foot of the bed, lifts her head and meows irritably. She _knows_ what’s coming, and she daintily hops off the bed and slinks away.

 

Prompto makes himself comfortable in bed. His laptop’s open in front of him, and… well, he’s curious, okay? His research had led him onto his favourite gross porn site, and he’d flushed and sat on the home page for a couple of moments before typing ‘pregnant male omega’ into the search bar with trembling fingers.

 

Somehow, the internet knowing that weird thing he can’t get off his mind solidifies it. Even if he deletes his search history, just typing the words in… _fuck,_ he’s weird, isn’t he?

 

Naturally, several videos come up, and Prompto’s entire face goes bright red, even though he’s alone. He’s alone and nobody can _possibly_ know, but…

 

One video looks particularly enticing, probably because the omega’s young, slender-waisted and blonde, a pretty thing that looks… decently like Prompto himself. In the thumbnail, he’s got his face in a dark-haired guy’s lap, probably going to town on sucking his dick, and that’s a _nice_ mental image. Prompto only hesitates for a split second of guilty reflection, then he clicks the link.

 

The video starts. Prompto sits back against the bed. He reaches behind himself to adjust the pillows, and then leans to the side, fumbling through the drawer next to his bed for a bottle of lube and his favourite toy. It’s modest in length, primarily designed to help relieve heat cramps, with a thick knot at the base.

 

(Prompto’s _long_ given up pretending it’s not Noct’s cock he’s fantasizing about when he jerks off, when he fucks himself with a stupid toy. This, really, is just another step deeper into hell.)

 

He probably won’t even need the lube, either. Already, he can feel the beginnings of arousal stirring in his belly. He’s still got his underwear on, but his cock is twitching to life in its confines, and there’s that familiar warmth that comes with the first trickle of slick sliding down his thighs.

 

The omega in the video is _definitely_ pregnant. There’s no denying it. If Prompto squints, if he doesn’t look at the guy’s face, he can _almost_ imagine it’s himself instead. The guy’s built similarly, with wide hips and a slender waist. The omega in the video has a softer chest than Prompto, the swells of his little breasts perky, nipples heavy and dark and swollen. And… oh.

 

Prompto can’t help it. His fingers drift down over his belly. It’s flat, defined, trembling a little with each heaving breath. But it’s so _easy_ to imagine it swollen, a nice, smooth, round curve, full of _Noct’s_ baby. God, the intensity of it _hits_ him so fucking hard, he wants this. The idea is hot as hell. It’s going straight to Prompto’s dick. His erection’s twitching to life, filling out fully and already straining against the front of his boxer briefs. Thighs shifting together, Prompto can already feel the hot-wet slide of slick. God, he gets so _wet_ when he’s turned on, and already, he’s so deep in this gross fantasy.

 

The alpha in the video doesn’t quite look like Noctis, but it’s easy to pretend. Already, Prompto’s paying less attention to the porn and getting deeper into his own fantasy, anyway.

 

Fingers dragging down his belly, Prompto tries to imagine how it’d feel. So _full,_ so heavy and claimed and utterly _owned_ by Noctis. Maybe that’s what’s so hot about this. He wants to be owned by his best friend, claimed and fuck, he wants to be _marked_ by Noctis. If he was stuffed full of his baby, he’d surely having a scarred mark on his neck to solidify the bond, right? There’d be teeth marks mottling his neck, his throat, his shoulderblades, right…?

 

Those slender, clever fingers slip under the band of his underwear, and Prompto _moans_ as he curls them loosely around his cock. He’s nearly fully hard. In the porn video, the alpha is kissing and doting on the pregnant omega’s stomach, and Prompto has to admit— _that’s_ nice. It’s… tender, intimate, more than he expected from gross porn.

 

He tips his head back and closes his eyes, though. As he shimmies out of his underwear, it’s Noctis he’s seeing. It’s Noct’s lips trailing down over his belly, the hot puff of Noct’s breath against the swell of his stomach, pressing kisses into sensitive skin—

 

“Noct…” Prompto’s shameless, he doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s not moaning his best friend’s name, as his fingers tighten around his cock. His other hand works down between his parted thighs, his hips lift, and _oh,_ he’s definitely wet. There’s slick wetting the insides of his thighs. He’s relaxed, already so _ready…_

 

Prompto tends to get impatient in everything in life and jerking off is no exception. He’s watched a lot of porn. He tried taking it slow once, but he’d been squirming and desperate and given up way too fast. The _concept_ of doing it slow, fingers ghosting over the underside of his cock, teasing the sensitive head, it’s appealing, but… he always gets just so needy, starts trembling and squirming and rushes headlong into orgasm. He’s got barely any refractory time anyway—might as well enjoy it, right?

 

The omega on the screen is tossing his head back as the alpha’s head delves between his thighs, and _god,_ that’s nice. From this angle, if Prompto squints, he can pretend that’s him, that it’s Noct’s face between his thighs, his best friend’s tongue lapping at his entrance, tasting his slick. It’d get _everywhere,_ cling to Noct’s chin, shine on his cheeks.

 

Prompto’s messy, and god, he doesn’t care.

 

Two fingers press past the slick ring of muscle so easily. His body is pliant, opening up already, and he’s practically dripping slick. Prompto groans, his hips lifting, thighs parting further as he tries to crook his fingers in, to hook them deep and drag them against his inner walls. This part is hard to do alone; he can’t get the angle right, his fingers aren’t _thick_ enough.

 

Already, he’s a hot mess, and already, he needs to feel _full._

The omega in the video has one hand tangled in his alpha’s hair. The other hand is playing with a swollen breast, tugging at one of those dark, swollen nipples. Prompto wonders, idly, if his own chest – just _slightly_ plush, nipples pink and cute – would fill out, if he was carrying Noct’s heir. Research for later, he tells himself, and that thought alone betrays just how much he’s into this fucking stupid fantasy…

 

Prompto’s fingers crook deeper, just _barely_ brush over the sensitive gland inside of him, and he outright _moans,_ head tipping back against the pillow. His cock twitches, drools a thin pool of precome against his – flat, but in his mind, _curved –_ belly.

 

“Noct… fuck, _breed_ me…” Prompto groans, and there’s no shame there, not anymore. He’d gotten over most of the hot burn of shame the first few times he’d jerked off imagining Noctis was with him. This is just another step in a direction he’s been barreling headlong into for ages now. It’s his safe little fantasy, it’s okay, right?

 

Prompto’s fingers are wet, and there’s a hot, wet rush of slick coating his inner thighs and the firm swell of his ass as he pulls his fingers free. He’s still idly stroking his cock, thumb tracing the heavy vein that runs along the underside, as he reaches for the toy.

 

He’d barely worked himself open with two fingers, and Prompto knows, even with the slick and with how fucking hot and needy he is, it’ll be a bit of work to get the girth of the thing inside. It’s easy to pretend it’s Noct, though. Bright blue eyes shifting, Prompto’s attention drifts back to the porn video playing on his laptop in front of him. The omega and the alpha have switched places now. If he looks closely, he can see the glisten of slick on the alpha’s chin. _Fuck._

 

The omega’s the one with his mouth full now, and Prompto groans. He lifts the toy to his lips, drags his tongue over the smooth silicone. It fits in nicely into his fantasy. He wonders, vaguely, what Noct’s dick is like. He’s _seen_ it, of course… they’re best friends, they’ve changed in front of each other multiple times. Prompto’s never seen that alpha cock fully hard, though, and he wonders how _big_ it is, how thick Noct’s knot would be, all locked inside of him, holding his seed in place, _filling him…_

Knocking him up.

 

Oh, he _likes_ that, a full-bodied shudder wracking Prompto’s body as he closes his lips around the thick head of the toy, suckling lazily. He wishes it’s Noctis, that instead of unyielding, cool silicone, it’s a real cock, blood-hot and throbbing, leaking salty precome onto his tongue…

 

The toy pops free from his mouth with a wet, lewd sound, a strand of saliva connecting the rounded head to parted, slightly-flushed lips. Prompto groans; he’s impatient. He needs _Noctis,_ needs his alpha, but fuck, he can’t _have_ that. All he has is this fantasy—and it’s gotta be enough.

 

The thick head of that cock nudges against his slick entrance, and Prompto shifts, eagerly pressing down on the weight of it. He’s tight, even with the finger-fuck he’s given himself. _If_ this really was Noctis, he’d have to go slow. Fuck, Noct would have to brace himself on one arm while he nudged his thick cock inside. Knowing Noctis, he’d distract Prompto with kisses, with playful little words, whispered in that breathy, teasing voice of his.

 

Prompto can hear the dirty words falling from Noct’s lips way too easily.

 

‘Put a baby in you already, and you’re still thirsty for this cock, huh Prom…?’ he’d whisper. Prompto whines, whole body jerking with an intense shudder. He’s barely paying attention to the video in front of him now, though the alpha’s definitely about to fuck the pregnant omega on the screen.

 

“Noct, wanna feel _full,”_ Prompto whimpers, as if the fantasy is real. As if, instead of a thick silicone toy nudging past the tight ring of his ass, it’s Noct’s real, alpha cock. As if instead of lying in bed alone, watching gross porn, he’s got Noct’s weight settled heavily over him, those deep blue eyes watching him. He’d be so _good_ for Noct, wouldn’t he?

 

He’d carry Noct’s heir. Fuck, Prompto will do _anything_ for his best friend. When he’s this deep, when he’s letting himself get carried away by fantasy, it’s so easy to see what’s right in front of him.

 

He’s fucking in _love_ with Noctis.

 

The toy works inside, bit by bit, inch by inch, and Prompto _moans_ at the intrusion. It’s slow, and it burns, working him open, but god, he even loves this part, too. He loves feeling his body shift and adjust to the fullness, he loves his much it _stretches_ him. He loves imagining the look on Noct’s face, the dark possessiveness in his eyes.

 

Sometimes, when it’s just the two of them, and Prompto does something _cute,_ when he gets brave and cuddles in and breathes in that musky, spicy alpha scent… that same look crosses over Noct’s face, that same darkness burns in his eyes. Fuck, Prompto can see it too well.

 

“Please…” Prompto gasps. The thick toy fills him up, until the knot of it’s pressed against his rim. He shifts, groans, lifts his hips, and feels the toy rub against his insides so perfectly. God, it feels good. Prompto’s erection is fully hard, and his fingers flex, curling tighter around his cock again, giving a lazy, slow jerk.

 

Pleasure shoots down his spine, and even though he _always_ wants to take it slow, he can’t.

 

Noctis would take it slow, Prompto thinks, but he’s not Noctis, as much as his fantasy wants to pretend his alpha best friend is here. His hips lift as he grinds them down on that thick toy. The head is curved slightly, and it rubs into his prostate as he fucks himself on it. Each drag over that sensitive gland is a burst of euphoric bliss, one that has Prompto gasping and needy. He’s _wet,_ slick dripping down along the length of that toy, pooling at the thick knot that’s teasing his entrance.

 

‘You want this knot?’ Prompto can hear Noct’s voice in his head. He’s imagining it’s Noct’s cock grinding into him, Noct’s swelling knot teasing his stretched-open hole. Prompto’s so wet for him, and he’s so _obedient._ It’d be Noct’s hand settling possessively over his belly as he fucked him, too, fingers splayed over the physical evidence of how fucking _owned_ he was. Prompto shivers, he loves it, he _needs_ it—

 

“Need your knot!” Prompto gasps, and his whole body shakes, his thighs tremble violently. He lets go of his cock to slide his other hand down between his thighs. It’s always _so_ much effort to get the thick, knotted part of the toy inside of him when he isn’t in heat – when he’s in heat, everything is a frantic haze, the hormones replace all coherent thought and he’s so _wet_ and pliant and open – but god, he needs to feel it.

 

Both hands work the toy inside, and god it _burns,_ but his cock’s twitching and drooling heavily against his belly the whole time. There’s the hot flare of burning pain as Prompto’s rim is stretched, as his ass is opened up further, but he works the toy in, slow and steady, and it’s so wet with his slick, it presses in, bit by bit, until it _pops._

 

And _fuck,_ it’s the perfect combination of pleasure-pain, it’s damn near unbearable.

 

Prompto can practically feel Noct’s come spurting inside of him, filling him up, spilling so deep within. He whines, his eyes are wet with tears and shining with desperation. He’s not watching the porn on his laptop anymore, but if he _was,_ he’d be treated to the sight of the needy little omega begging for another baby, begging to be filled and bred.

 

And god, Prompto _wants_ just that.

 

He can’t pull the toy out, that knot is too thick, stretching him so open. Prompto’s grinding his hips down, frantic and desperate, rocking so fast and deep he can’t even _think._ His other hand’s on his cock again, jerking it hard and fast, and— _oh,_ his orgasm doesn’t take long. It’s explosive, that knot putting perfect, unrelenting pressure on his prostate, his thumb teasing the head of his cock, digging into the slick, dragging the precome around--

 

_“Noct!”_

 

Prompto’s gasping out his best friend’s name as he comes, as he spurts white over his stomach. His abdomen is clenched, his chest is heaving, he’s clenching and dragging down on that thick toy that’s stretched him so painfully open. It’s an intense orgasm, and head thrown back, eyes clenched shut, Prompto’s imagining Noct collapsing onto him, milking him through it. He’d keep touching, keep stroking Prompto’s cock, keep fucking into him until that knot deflated, until the omega was needy and spent and _begging_ him to stop—

 

Noctis would own him entirely.

 

Fuck, Prompto loves it.

 

Slowly, he comes down. The porn’s still playing, and the sound of foreign voices moaning is what drags him back into the real world. Eyes opening, blinking blearily to clear the tears and lust-haze away, Prompto’s vision focuses. The omega’s on all fours now, his belly heavy and hanging, breasts bouncing a little as he’s pounded from behind.

 

Prompto’s cock gives a weak, appreciative twitch. He’s spent, but… he’s always had a fast recovery time. If he _wants_ to go again, he’ll be ready soon.

 

“… what the fuck is wrong with me?” Prompto groans, though, as he leans forward to click out of the video with shaking fingers. He slams his laptop shut and collapses back down. The toy’s still buried deep inside of him, and _oh,_ he’s oversensitive, his insides twitching and aching as the thick, unyielding knot of it grinds into his overworked, swollen prostate.

 

Damn intrusive thoughts. Prompto knows _exactly_ what’s wrong with him. He’s an omega, he’s _Noct’s_ omega, even if his best friend has never really made any move. He belongs to his best friend, through and through, and Prompto knows he’s probably cursed to an existence of living on the sidelines, watching from a distance.

 

Idly, though, a hand’s drifting down, over his belly, and he can _still_ imagine it… being full and pregnant, giving Noct everything. Prompto hates how badly he wants it.

 

He’s debating if he wants to work the toy out or if he wants to try for a round two, when next to him, his discarded phone vibrates. Nobody texts Prompto, really. Occasionally, Ignis or Gladio send him messages, but it’s _usually_ when Noctis isn’t answering his own phone—and otherwise?

 

Frantic, sticky fingers reach for his phone, and Prompto nearly drops it on his face as he lifts it up and swipes past the lock screen. God, he’s _spent,_ weak and exhausted, and probably in need of a few more good orgasms to get this gross fantasy out of his head.

 

Naturally, it’s Noct. Who wouldn’t it be? Prompto’s heart flutters, and his cock twitches at the same time, a strange dichotomy existing within him. Lust and affection are so _entwined_ when Noct’s involved; it’s not even fucking fair.

 

 _‘iggy was boring af. Guess who snuck out?’_ the messages reads.

 

Simultaneously, horror and excitement is mounting in Prompto’s belly. He sits up – the toy shifting inside of him almost painfully – and glances around his room. It’s a mess. The thick scent of omega pheromones is hanging heavily in the air. His sheets are sweaty and wet with his own slick.

 

 _‘where r u?’_ Prompto texts back.

 

 _‘be there in 5’_ Noctis texts back, almost immediately.

 

 _Fuck._ Prompto groans. _‘gimme 10 to shower’_ he types out frantically, and then throws himself down on the bed. Getting that toy out is always a _time,_ and god, he’s a mess, and…

 

Well, he’s not sure how much he can handle seeing Noctis right now. But the alternative – sending his best friend away – just is not happening. It pushes the thought out of his mind, at least. It’s hard to picture his belly heaving and full of Noct’s baby when he’s faced with the imminent threat of his best friend walking in on his jerk-off fantasy.

 

It’s a thought that’s forgotten, momentarily—but not for good. Because, god, Prompto’s neck might be unmarred, and his belly might be flat, but in his mind? He’s been claimed a long fucking time ago, and there’s no going back from this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok hi wow. i haven't written anything in SO LONG???? lately i've fallen almost entirely out of fandom. i've also simultaneously fallen into the gross hellhole that is ABO promptis haha. i've been wanting to try my hand at it for ages. this ALMOST went on a throwaway ao3 account but whatever, i'll crash and burn with this nasty. 
> 
> these idiots would make amazing parents and i can't get it out of my head. 
> 
> there is going to be a second part. and probably a third one because i'm gross LOL. 
> 
> anyway, you can find me on twitter @thatdest, though i've been on a social media hiatus. i no longer have a tumblr atm cuz i deleted it (needed a break!) and a porn bot stole my username apparently. i appreciate reviews and feedback, as always! please scream with me about how good omegaverse promptis is lol. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when it’s soft and warm and they’re both a little bit sleepy, it’s easy to be so natural. Even if they don’t talk about it often, that dynamic always exists between them. They’re Prompto and Noctis, yeah, the prince and his dutiful, loyal best friend. But, deeper, below the surface, something that they can’t change, that’s intrinsically tied to their very being—they’re an omega and an alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if there are any typos i'm sorry, i'll fix them, i proofread this after a 16 hour disneyland day and i may be dying but i rly wanted to update <3

Prompto’s room is hastily thrown back together.

 

He’s pretty sure he did an incredibly half-assed job. He strips the bed in record time, and remakes it horribly, the sheets wrinkled and sticking out in the corners. The evidence (the toy, hastily washed, the lube…) is hidden away, and Prompto opens a window and turns on a fan, hoping to air out the most obvious sign of what he’s been doing: the thick, omega scent hanging in the air. The only way he could be more obvious was if he was in heat—and Noctis _knows_ not to come around when that’s going on.

 

Prompto sighs, leaning against the shower wall as he quickly rinses off. There’s slick clinging to his thighs, and a heavy pulsing of arousal in his belly. He could’ve gone again. His cock’s still vaguely interested. And, now that Prompto’s _discovered_ this deep, innate desire in him?

 

Every time he runs a soapy hand over the flat delta of his abdomen, it’s a little shock of need. It’s a little tingle of instinct that runs so _deep,_ It’s almost terrifying. Fuck, Prompto’s known he’s crazy about Noctis for ages now. Before he’d come out as an omega, honestly. It’d been the most terrifying part of the whole thing—the heats suck, yeah, but, he’d been petrified that Noct wouldn’t want anything to do with a stupid, nobody omega.

 

Noct’s the prince, after all. An alpha. It’s weird for the two of them to be friends—not necessarily weird by Insomnian standards, but the stakes are way higher with _their_ friendship. It’d be so easy to give in to his desires, to ask Noctis to keep him company during a heat, to not have to brave it _alone…_

 

Prompto shivers, full-bodied and needy, and he groans at how his cock’s twitching heavily.

 

He hadn’t realized he’s in _love._ A small crush, he’d told himself, over and over again. It’s just a small crush. He hadn’t realized how badly he wants to give Noctis the world. He wants to give him everything—his body, his love, companionship, a family. It shouldn’t be as intense as it is. But they’re young, they’re stupid, and it’s the perfect concoction to turn him into a lovesick fool, leaning back against the shower wall and rubbing his belly, returning to that stupid fantasy.

 

“Get it together,” Prompto groans to nobody. He washes himself down thoroughly, trying to rinse away the clinging scent of horny, wet omega. Satisfied that he’s done as much as he can, he steps out of the shower, towels off, changes into some loose, relaxed sweats and a t-shirt, and the towel’s hanging loosely wrapped around Prompto’s neck when he hears a knock on the door.

 

Noctis usually assumes Prompto’s parents aren’t home, and he’s always right.

 

Prompto would be more upset about it, but his house has proven to be a valuable haven for Noctis, when he’s shirking duties and trying to avoid Ignis, Gladio, his dad, or whatever poor Glaive has been sent to fetch him. Surely, they all know where Prompto lives – royal security’s probably done a full background check on him – but nobody ever bothers to come up and drag the rebellious prince back home.

 

“Hey,” Noctis grins lazily, when Prompto opens the door.

 

That smile _does_ things to Prompto, and he forces a smile back, one that he can only hope is relaxed. “Hey. It’s late, y’know. I was about to go to bed.”

 

Noctis shrugs, and steps inside. He doesn’t need an invitation; they’ve done this countless times. Of course, Prompto’s usually not in the midst of a frantic jerk-off session about his best friend _right_ when Noctis shows up, but whatever.

 

“Sorry dude. Ignis is on one of his rampages about how I don’t _study_ enough,” Noctis wrinkles his nose and rolls his eyes, and Prompto gets it. He likes Ignis, he really does, but the guy’s stuck up. It’s his job to be, but… Prompto sees the way he looks at the two of them together, the _warning_ glances he gives Noctis, and it’s hard to get past that. The message is clear: Noct shouldn’t be hanging around Prompto so much.

 

Whatever. Try and stop them.

 

“What’d you do, lock him in the bathroom and run away?” Prompto rolls his eyes.

 

“Close,” Noct grins. “Gladio owes me, I covered for him in front of his dad when he went out drinking with the Guard a couple weeks ago. He called Iggy, bitching about something or another, and while he was distracted…”

 

Prompto can’t help but laugh, swatting at Noct’s shoulder. “Awful, dude, pitting them against each other.”

 

“They fight like an old married couple _anyway,”_ Noctis points out. “They’ll be fine.”

 

They’re climbing the stairs to Prompto’s bedroom, and all Prompto can do is hope that it’s not _ridiculously_ obvious what he’d been up to. The window’s open, and the cool, crisp nighttime air of Insomnia has washed away most of the scent. It’s _there,_ faint, but… it could just easily be the lived-in quarters of a hormonal, teenage omega. Which, after all, is exactly what he is.

 

Noctis flops down on Prompto’s bed. Prompto follows, sighing heavily. There’s still an irritable, bone-deep _need_ in him, and having his best friend close isn’t helping. He should’ve jerked off again in the shower, just in case. He hopes there’s not a fresh wave of slick between his thighs; he’s pretty sure he’d feel the warm heat of it, though.

 

“… it smells like you in here,” Noctis murmurs, after a moment, and Prompto _freezes._

 

“… well I _live_ here, Noctis,” Prompto points out, with a roll of his eyes, and he hopes that he doesn’t sound like a panicking mess.

 

Noctis scoots back on the bed and makes himself right at home, propping up the mountain of pillows behind him. “Do you? Cuz I mean, you _mostly_ stay at my place these days.”

 

There’s a lot that Prompto could bite back. He _definitely_ goes home when his heat’s coming. He wishes he lived with Noct, of course. He wants to share everything. Noct’s got a little study that is _supposed_ to be for his princely duties. He never uses it, of course; there’s a futon in the corner of it that’s supposed to be for Prompto when he sleeps over. They usually end up tangled together in Noct’s bed, though.

 

It’d… make a nice nursery. It’s bright, sunny during the day, with lots of windows. It’d look good painted yellow, chocobo-themed everything…

 

There must be a far-off look in Prompto’s eye, because Noctis gives him a playful shove, snapping him out of it.

 

“… Prom, you tired? Go to sleep, dude,” Noct’s saying, as he reaches for the television remote.

 

There’s a lot of things that could go wrong, here. Noctis could’ve suggested they stream a movie on his laptop, and even though Prompto had hastily clicked out of his browser, the evidence is very clear and explicit in his search history. Sometimes, Prompto tucks the TV remote in the bedside table, and Noctis could’ve rummaged through it, could’ve found the evidence… or, hell, the scent in the air could be that much more obvious.

 

At least he’s not wet. At least the sweats hide any tiny bits of lingering arousal, his cock just a _little_ too full to be entirely soft.

 

And nothing goes wrong. His secret is safe—though, maybe Prompto _wants_ Noctis to know. He’s torn on that part. He doesn’t, more than anything, want to fuck up their friendship. Prompto doesn’t want to lose Noct, he _needs_ him, in whatever capacity he can have him…

 

“Crashin’ here then?” Prompto asks, blearily, as he settles down in the freshly changed, crisp clean sheets. Noctis smells good. He always does. He smells like _alpha._ Prompto had never really been able to place exactly _why_ his best friend smelled so good, before he’d bloomed into an omega. He’d never noticed the subtleties to it, either.

 

And, it seems like Noct’s scent shifts, based on Prompto’s moods. Right now, he’s letting himself indulge in fantasy again, as his eyes blink shut, as he snuggles down and closes his eyes. Noct would take care of him, if he was carrying the royal heir. He’d be strong and protective, and so _possessive_ of what’s his. Noctis is a good person. He’s kind and caring, with a ridiculous, lazy, biting sort of sarcastic sense of humour that Prompto adores. But the things that he _really_ cares about? He holds onto, he likes to keep close.

 

Prompto shudders a little.

 

Noctis drops the remote, settling on some dumb show or another to watch. “No wonder you’re cold, dude, your window’s wide open.”

 

“You just told me my room _smells,_ and now you’re bitching about my window being open? Iggy’s not so far off, Noct, you’re a royal pain in the ass,” Prompto retorts sleepily, and he’s proud of himself for not getting all bent out of shape. Like he can confess the truth—he’d been frantically masturbating to the mental image of being pregnant with Noct’s baby. Yeah. That particular harsh truth would go over _so_ well.

 

“Didn’t say the smell was a bad thing,” Noctis replies, and he snuggles under the blankets too. “… smells like you. I like it, y’know.”

 

Prompto’s pretty sure he’s flushing. Noctis is _close,_ too, pressed so warm and solid.

 

“You’re thinking with your dick, Noct. It’s just cuz I’m an omega,” Prompto says, keeping his eyes firmly shut. Sometimes, when it’s soft and warm and they’re both a little bit sleepy, it’s easy to be so _natural._ Even if they don’t talk about it often, that dynamic always exists between them. They’re Prompto and Noctis, yeah, the prince and his dutiful, loyal best friend. But, deeper, below the surface, something that they can’t change, that’s intrinsically tied to their very being—they’re an omega and an alpha.

 

There’s a tug in Prompto’s chest, and for a split second, the faintest moment, he thinks that maybe, Noctis feels it too.

 

“Yeah, Prom, cuz I’m _totally_ that kind of alpha,” Noctis teases back, though, and that brief moment passes, and it’s just _them_ again. “I could just show up when you’re in heat if I was really thinking with my dick.”

 

Prompto bites back the challenge, the silent _‘do it, please,’_ that he wants to say. That’s too far. He’s already gone too far today, in so many ways. It’s so tempting, to push fate. To bring up just how badly he wants to carry that royal heir.

 

“So, you’re saying you’d rather just let your best friend suffer with the worst heat cramps ever? Gee, thanks, Noct,” Prompto opts to say, instead. Which… to be honest, isn’t a whole lot better. It’s an invitation, just without the direct words. He almost groans, but that’d probably betray just a little too much. Instead, Prompto squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, and snuggles into the blanket.

 

Noctis scoots just a little closer. He’s on his back, and Prompto’s curled up on his side, and his shoulder nudges into Prompto’s chest. It’s warm, the bit of contact both reassuring, and a little burst of electricity he can’t quite shake.

 

“I wouldn’t let you suffer,” Noctis starts to say, before he sighs, heavily. “… forget it, Prom. Just. It’s nice here. I like being surrounded by… you.”

 

Noct’s words are quiet, spoken in that awkward, uncertain tone that doesn’t come out that often, but Prompto recognizes it as something he shouldn’t push. Noctis only sounds that way when he’s talking about the future, about his dad being too old and tired for the throne, about his own duties, the ones he doesn’t feel ready for.

 

Prompto wants to carry some of the burden for Noctis. He wants to help wherever he can. He wants Noct to be happy.

 

He wants to push, to ask Noctis just _what_ he would do, to ask what he’s talking about—but he doesn’t. More than anything, Prompto doesn’t want to lose his best friend, and he doesn’t want to push Noctis away. He already doesn’t open up nearly enough.

 

“Stay, then,” Prompto mumbles. “Weirdo.”

 

Noctis laughs quietly, and things shift back to normal, in an instant. “Gonna. Brunch in the morning?”

 

Prompto notices, very pointedly, that Noctis says _brunch_ instead of _breakfast,_ and that betrays his stupid best friend’s intentions right there. “… we have school in the morning, Noct.”

 

“We have _study period_ in the morning,” Noctis corrects him smartly. “Gonna study my sleeping habits.”

 

Prompto grumbles, but he _likes_ watching Noctis sleep, if he’s being honest. He’s been nothing but painfully honest with himself today, learned _way_ too many new things. There’s been way too many mornings where he’s woken up in the same bed as his best friend, the two of them a tangled mess of limbs. Sometimes, Prompto allows himself a little while to snuggle in, to breathe in that deep, musky alpha scent, to run his fingers across Noct’s chest, or over the smooth skin of his forearm, or nuzzle his face into Noct’s neck…

 

“Whatever. Lazy asshole,” Prompto teases.

 

\---

Prompto’s face is pressed heavily into the mattress, and his tear-stained cheeks are wet, clinging to the sheets. His hands are balled into fists, gripping frantically at the blankets, and fuck, he might _rip_ them, but god, he doesn’t care. He’s so lost, he’s so beyond anything he’s _ever_ felt before.

 

“You want it?” Noct’s voice is harsh, rough, as his alpha leans over him.

 

Words are difficult. They’re almost _impossible_ to form, at this point.

 

He’s so fucking hard. Prompto’s cock is full, flushed and curved up against his belly. He’s on his knees, ass spread wide and open, and _so_ wet. There’s slick shining wetly on his thighs, thick and messy as it drips eagerly from his slightly stretched hole. He’s outright _presenting,_ and god, Noct’s receptive.

 

The alpha’s settled on his knees behind Prompto. A strong hand grips his hip, holding him steady, and Prompto _whines_ as he feels the heavy, full, _hot_ drag of Noct’s thick alpha cock slide between the cleft of his ass. It’s so wet, Prompto’s so wet and receptive, the motion is smooth, fluid. He needs that cock, more than he’s needed _anything._

 

“Can’t hear you,” Noctis laughs softly, and Prompto remembers, _oh,_ he’s supposed to talk.

 

“… please…” he whines, outright keens the words into the sheets. Breathing is hard, too. His breath puffs around him, hot, too hot; it makes his head spin, like he can’t suck in enough oxygen. He wants to tip his head, to gasp a few desperate mouthfuls of _cool,_ refreshing air, but no, he can’t. He belongs to Noctis, and all he can think about is getting fucked, bred, filled.

 

“Please what?” Noct’s enjoying himself. His voice has deepened an octave, and he sounds rough. Dominant. Less like Prompto’s best friend, more like _possessive alpha._ The words are followed by a roll of Noct’s hips, more blunt pressure, another drag of that thick cock against his ass. It makes Prompto whine, pathetic and needy.

 

He’s falling deeper, quickly spiraling out of control, both soaring and simultaneously _falling_ backwards, into himself. Sometimes, Prompto’s an impatient mess of insecurity, but when Noct’s around? It’s so easy to just focus on his best friend, his alpha. To give in to the desire.

 

“… please…” the words fall from Prompto’s lips, and he’s not even entirely aware he’s saying them, “take me, Noct, fuck me…”

 

Noctis makes a satisfied sound behind him. Those fingers dig deeper into the jut of his hip, enough to bruise, enough to _mark,_ and Prompto groans. This time, when Noct’s cock drags over his ass, the blunt head’s rubbing directly over his slick hole, teasing, and then—

 

Prompto feels split open, broken in half, and it’s fucking perfect. Noctis is bigger than fingers, bigger than the toy Prompto’s used to, even, but he’s so _wet,_ he takes that alpha cock eagerly. Ass grinding back, the burning sensation razes over Prompto’s senses, has him gripping the sheets harder, his breath coming quicker, desperate little hot pants against the ruined blankets. He’s split open, he’s so _full,_ and it’s perfect.

 

“Fuck…” Noctis groans, behind him, as he sinks in, inch by inch, _deeper,_ until he’s buried so deep. Prompto can feel the beginnings of that thick knot filling up, and god, if he wasn’t already hard as hell, dripping and aching, the idea of being split open by that knot, of being filled up, Noct’s come hot and messy and dripping from his stretched hole…

 

It’s a damn good thing Noct’s got a hold of his hips, because the alpha begins to move, and fuck, Prompto’s _gone._

 

“Noct..!” the name, his alpha’s name, is torn from Prompto’s lips as Noctis starts to fuck him. Deep, fast, _rough,_ just the way Prompto’s been craving. That alpha cock goes so deep, rubs his insides, grinds into his prostate and stuffs him full. It burns and aches in the best way, in a way that’s intense, too much, and so perfect laced with pleasure. It’s tied together in Prompto’s mind, the pain and the overwhelming bliss, and he can’t separate the two. He doesn’t _want_ to.

 

“Yeah,” Noct’s growling in his ear, fucking into him hard, fast, _deep, “_ let me hear you, Prom…”

 

Prompto lets loose, and he isn’t coherent enough to know what he’s saying. He’s focusing on the sensation of being full. Noctis is fucking into him, relentlessly, tirelessly, and he wants a knot more than he’s ever wanted one. More than when he’s in heat, more than in his fantasies, Prompto needs to be _full._

 

“Please… breed me, Noct, knot me, give it to me…!” Prompto cries out, or at least he thinks he does. He’s lost. There’s slick dripping down his thighs. Noctis fucks into him hard, the wet, lewd sounds filling the air. That knot is swelling, and it’s tugging at Prompto’s rim, it’s working him open. He grinds back, lets Noctis tug his hips to sink deeper, to open him _wider._

 

Prompto’s cheeks must be bright red. His voice sounds hoarse, and his face is stuck to the blanket. His hair’s matted over his eyes. He can’t see, can’t think. His cock’s twitching, leaking sticky, thick strands of precome that drool down onto the blankets. All he can do is move, thrust back against Noct, sob mindlessly for it—

 

He _screams,_ he’s pretty sure, when Noct’s knot presses into him, when it works him open. It’s so swollen, so full of come, so ready to give him _everything._ Prompto feels another hot wave of slick gush down his thighs, his cock twitches, his balls contract. He’s going to come untouched, just from the feeling of Noct’s knot grinding into his prostate, opening him burning and achingly wide, it’s _nothing_ like that toy—

 

“C’mon, Prom,” Noctis growls, “ _my_ omega, come for me, show me…”

 

It’s the _command_ that does it. It’s a fucking command from his alpha. Noctis owns him body and soul, and Prompto gasps, whines, shouts out the neediest fucking sound as his orgasm explodes. His cock spurts against the sheets, untouched, and he’s so wet. His insides twitch, he contracts down on Noct’s cock, frantically grinds as he rides out the release. Noct’s almost there, he’s gonna come, he’s going to fill Prompto up, he needs to be _full--_

\---

 

Prompto jolts awake, and he realizes, instantly, _mortified,_ that his underwear and pants are sticky. There’s sweat beading on his forehead, and as he lifts a shaky hand to run through his hair, it’s damp and mussed in every fucking direction.

 

Despite falling asleep with his window open, despite it being a cool night outside, Prompto’s skin is warm to the touch. He’s trembling slightly. There’s so much slick dripping down his inner thighs, it’s fucking embarrassing. And, even worse, is the spread of warmth around his cock. He fucking _came_ in his pants, in his sleep, like he’s still twelve years old.

 

Worst of all (because of course it gets worse), Prompto’s lying on his side. Next to him, Noct’s sprawled on his back, and there’s barely _any_ space between them. Prompto has the worst feeling that he’s been grinding one out on his best friend’s hip in his sleep. Fuck. That would be _one_ way to make everything terrible.

 

Carefully, he shifts. The moonlight is casting a pale glow in the room, enough to see by. Noctis sure _looks_ sound asleep. For once in his life – and it really _might_ be the only time – Prompto blesses his best friend for being such a rock solid sleeper. Noct’s features are soft with sleep, relaxed, yet the angles of his face are defined, regal and delicate. It makes Prompto smile, momentarily forgetting his _problem,_ as he watches.

 

Then Noctis shifts a little, groans in his sleep, and Prompto quickly shifts back. He slides out of bed, bare feet padding across the floor as he makes his way into the attached bathroom. The room smells like _omega_ again, and there’s nothing that can be done there. His pants are soaked. The sheets are probably wet with his slick, too.

 

Prompto washes down, as best as he can, without being too loud. He fumbles through his bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, his cell phone flash guiding his way, to change into fresh clothes.

 

He’s too preoccupied with _not_ waking Noctis to notice the way his best friend’s brow furrows while he’s shimmying into a new pair of loose sleep pants. The blankets ride down lower. Noct’s t-shirt has ridden up in his sleep, and his own pants hang low on his hips, and if Prompto was taking his time to admire, he’d get a nice view of the thick bulge tenting the front of Noct’s pants.

 

He’s not, though.

 

Instead, Prompto’s staring down at his own belly, as he finishes dressing, a hand sliding over the flat plane of it. In his dream, Noct had been about to _fill_ him. Of course, Prompto had woken up before the best part, but—he can imagine the heat of it, the spurt of hot come rushing into him, working its way deep. He wonders, vaguely, if he can even _have_ a baby. He’s male, and his adoption records are… skeevy, at best. He doesn’t really know where he comes from.

 

“… Prom?” Noct’s voice is slurred with sleep, deep and confused, and Prompto damn near jumps out of his skin.

 

He flushes ridiculously bright, even in the darkness. Noct’s just caught him with his shirt pushed up and his back arched, slouched, as he examined the tiny little jut of his – almost entirely flat – belly. Prompto quickly straightens, pulls his hand away, laughs it off nervously in a way that totally gives him away. A hand scratching at the back of his neck, Prompto can’t quite meet his best friend’s curious gaze.

 

“Had to go to the bathroom,” Prompto explains, though that doesn’t really explain anything at all. He shuffles back to the bed, and winces a little as he slides in, over the definite wet spot. Fuck, he’d made a mess. How embarrassing. He’ll just have to suffer through it.

 

“… mmm,” Noctis agrees amiably. He turns onto his side an arm curling around Prompto’s waist, tugging him in. “… smells good,” he mumbles sleepily. Noct’s ridiculous when he’s exhausted.

 

Prompto _does_ notice, this time, that Noct’s rock-hard, because suddenly, there’s a thick alpha cock nudged against his back. Fuck. He freezes, trembles a little, tries to figure out _what_ to do. What can he do, though, because moments later, Noct’s breath is evening out again, soft and gentle against his shoulder, and his best friend’s fast asleep.

 

Only Noctis could wake up, get a hard-on, and then pass out again. The thought _almost_ makes Prompto laugh, except fuck, it’s ridiculous.

 

Still, Noctis shifts behind him, and slowly, a hand curls around, splaying _right_ over Prompto’s lower belly. And, like that, it plays so nicely into Prompto’s fantasies. His best friend shouldn’t be curled so close to him. Prompto shouldn’t be pretending that this is a _thing,_ that this is their norm. He shouldn’t be pretending that Noct’s idly stroking his tummy, maybe whispering sweet words in his ear.

 

He’s in this bad.

 

Prompto’s dreams are decidedly more innocent, when he drifts back to sleep, but maybe not—because in them, he’s a proper consort, at Noct’s side, and that’s ultimately way more dangerous than something as simple as fucking his best friend.

 

\---

 

If Noctis remembers any of the previous night’s incident, he doesn’t bring it up.

 

Prompto doesn’t know if it’s a curse or a blessing.

 

They’re having brunch fashionably late, of course, and Prompto reminds Noctis that they _really_ should go to school. Then again, Noctis looks so _cute_ with a little dab of whipped cream stuck to the end of his nose as he somehow crams an entire extra-large stack of pancakes into his face. His best friend’s appetite is either zero or a hundred, and Prompto can never quite understand it.

 

“I’m tired,” Noctis complains, after somehow finishing off his plate – and the last of Prompto’s hash browns – as he leans back in his chair.

 

“How the hell are you tired? You slept forever,” Prompto teases. “Didn’t sleep well or something?”

 

For a moment, there’s a glimmer of emotion in Noct’s eyes, that look that hints his best friend wants to say something, words hanging on the tip of his tongue. Then it passes, and Noctis shrugs.

 

“I’m always tired. You wanna skip class the rest of the day?”

 

Prompto knows he shouldn’t, but they probably will. And he has to wonder if Noct knows more than he’s letting on. He can’t _know,_ of course? How could he. He’s probably chalking it up to hormones, to the weirdness that comes with their friendship, with the biological aspect they can’t change. That’s all it is, right?

 

Prompto won’t bring it up, and Noctis won’t again, but fuck, even if he wants to say it’s nothing, it’s drawing him even deeper. Instead, he glances shyly at Noctis through lidded eyes and heavy lashes, and smiles softly, a slow flush spreading across his face. It’s nice to dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this went exactly the opposite of how i outlined it, and that's why i don't outline.  
> this also went from like a 3 chapter thing into... i have no idea how long it's going to be, but i feel like it's going to be LONG lol so buckle in.  
> also, i am literally overwhelmed by the feedback i got???? like how are y'all as fucking disgusting and gross as me. i live for prompto getting knocked up by noctis and having royal babies and i guess everyone else is as nasty and terrible cuz i honestly expected 0 people to read and to lose all my ao3 subscribers LOL.  
> so pls. scream more. feedback is my lifeblood. y'all are amazing. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a good thing, really, that his friendship with Noctis comes so easily. It might be awkward, otherwise, to be so close to a best friend that he’s actively jerking off to at every possible opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't proofread again, oops. i have 10 minutes before i gotta go to work and i wanted to throw this up lmfao.

Prompto’s going insane.

 

The smart thing to do is to change his sheets, to wash them thoroughly and to move the fuck on. Somehow, though, he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s been a damn week and his bed _still_ lingers with the scent of Noctis, the scent of _alpha._ It mingles with his own scent, the combination something quite literally out of Prompto’s damn fantasies.

 

Noctis doesn’t sleep in his bed very often.

 

It’s stupid, really. Prompto spends a lot of nights at Noct’s and yeah, it’s great, being all washed in that alpha scent. But when it’s _his_ bed? Somehow, it’s so intimate. It’s different.

 

It doesn’t help that in his own bed, Prompto can bury his face in the mattress and breathe it in. He’s lying on his stomach, and his cock’s throbbing to life, trapped between the bed and his belly. They’ve got school soon, but Prompto woke up early with the _intention_ of running. Intent is very different from what he’s actually doing, though.

 

He keeps having those cursed dreams, the ones where Noct’s at his side, a hand _always_ protectively resting over his growing belly. It doesn’t help that Noct’s scent has been subtly shifting all week, and Prompto’s pretty sure he’s going to be rutting soon. It’s a silent thing, one they _don’t_ talk about. Noctis will simply disappear for a couple of days, under the guise of being ‘sick.’

 

Prompto wonders what it’d be like, if he just… _showed up_ at the door.

 

Would Noctis invite him in? Prompto can almost see his best friend standing in front of him  - agitated, dark circles under his eyes – as he reaches a hand out, wrenches it in Prompto’s shirt, tugs him inside the apartment and manhandles him to the bed. Noctis can get rough with him if he wants, Prompto’s _pretty_ fucking sure he’d like it…

 

He shudders, full-bodied and needy, and when he breathes heavily, Prompto’s overwhelmed with that scent of Noctis, clinging to the pillow his face is nestled into.

 

His cock twitches heavily against his belly, and he shamelessly slides a hand down. Fuck going for a run. His body’s _way_ too worked up. There’s the warmth of slick wetting his thighs, and Prompto sighs at the sensation. He lifts up a little, rising onto his knees, face still planted heavily in the sheets. It smells too good, and Noct’s scent clinging to the bed makes it too _easy_ to pretend…

 

‘Begging for it again?’ Noctis would tease, in that lazy drawl of his.

 

Maybe he’d want to sit back and _watch_ as Prompto warms himself up.

 

God, the thought makes Prompto moan, and he feels the warmth of another rush of slick, feels it running down his inner thigh. It’s stupid. He’s alone, there’s nobody else here. Noctis _certainly_ isn’t here to watch him. But Prompto pretends he can feel that intense, dark gaze locked in on him, and his whole body trembles in response.

 

He’d beg for it, if Noctis wants to hear that. He’d put on a _show._ Idly, Prompto wonders if that’s what Noct would want. He knows his friend can be lazy, can be strangely possessive about the most random things… it fits his fantasy so perfectly, picturing the prince that way.

 

“Please, Highness,” Prompto gasps into the blankets, and he tries the title on. He _loves_ the way it sounds, leaving his lips, soft and needy, as a hand dives into his underwear, curls around his cock and gives a heavy, firm stroke.

 

Noctis hates the title. He hates being addressed formally, and Prompto’s never called him by it – except outside of idle teasing – but in his mind, somehow, it fits in perfectly. He’d _love_ to worship Noctis, to go down on him, to gasp the title before he closes his lips around that thick alpha cock and sinks down, until it’s nudged into the back of his throat…

 

Prompto whines. He’s so _wet,_ he can feel more of it leaking from his pliant body. He twists, he face planting more firmly into the mattress as his other hand snakes back, works under the band of his – already soaked – underwear to rub through the slick that’s gathered along the cleft of his ass.

 

Fingering himself is _never_ as satisfying as something thick, unyielding, but… god, Prompto’s letting himself slip. Noctis would want to watch him fuck himself open with those slender fingers. Prompto whines, twisting them, as three fingers work inside, stretching himself open. It’s so _wet,_ he has no difficulty there. He can’t quite get the angle right—there’s a bit of dull pressure against his prostate, but it’s not _enough…_

 

‘You want some help?’ Noctis would tease.

 

Prompto whines. The angle is bad, his spine is twisted and his neck aches from being pressed so firmly into the sheets.

 

“Please,” he gasps aloud, even though nobody can hear him. His other hand is squeezing his cock tight. There’s precome leaking heavily from the head, he’s throbbing in his hand as he jerks himself. The tension is pooling in Prompto’s belly, a tight coil that’s contracting and pulsing within him. He’s going to make a mess—he’s already _so_ messy, slick shining on his thighs, dripping over his fingers as he pushes them deeper into his willing body.

 

It’d be a damn good show for Noctis, Prompto knows. Even if his fingers can’t quite go _deep_ enough, the sight of them working the tight rim of his ass open, stretching it wide, showing the wet, puffy pink shine of his insides for his alpha’s greedy eyes… fuck, that’s hotter than the sensations themselves.

 

‘Stop,’ Noctis would command, after a few minutes of watching. Prompto _whimpers,_ and he can almost feel the bed shifting underneath Noct’s weight, as his best friend climbs onto it behind him. He’d swat Prompto’s hand away, tug his other hand away from his cock, maybe press them both firmly into the mattress over his head…

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto gasps. Of course, he can’t stop touching himself. He tries to, and he thinks he’d like it, being held right on the edge, being _denied,_ the release right there, so close he can almost reach for it—but no, the tight knot of orgasm is loosening just a little, and he’s so hard, so dripping and aching…

 

Prompto _loves_ it in porn, he loves watching the desperation, the way the omegas whine and squirm and beg their dom alphas for mercy. He’d love to be dominated by Noctis, too, to be owned… he’d love to be treated like that. He thinks Noctis would like it too. His best friend’s granted such little control of his own life—and Prompto is so ready, so eager, to hand everything over…

 

His cock throbs. Prompto can’t stop; he’s too needy, too impatient. He jerks himself faster, harder, thumbing along the heavy vein that runs the length of his cock. He digs his thumb into the sensitive spot right underneath the crown, he works himself faster, harder. The precome smooths the strokes. And, even if he can’t quite finger himself right at this angle, each little stroke of his fingertips against his prostate is sparks exploding. He wants to pretend he’s _full,_ slutty and open, dripping come for Noctis, a baby in his belly—

 

“Noct!” Prompto gasps, breathing in that _scent_ as his orgasm explodes. His whole body clenches and tightens up with the intensity of it—he bucks down on those fingers still buried inside, fist jerking his cock as it twitches and spurts wet mess over his hand and against the front of the underwear he’s still wearing. It’s messy and intense and long, and Prompto moans, riding it out, each wave of pleasure making his mind go fuzzy, his body feel like it’s _floating._ It’s only when the pleasant aftershocks turn painful, when he’s fully milked, that he goes limp, boneless, a sweaty mess pressed into the sheets as he collapses back down.

 

It still smells like Noct. It smells like his best friend, mixed with his own omega pheromones, and the tell-tale scent of sex and slick and semen. God, it’s perfect. Prompto breathes in heavily, chest heaving, body trembling, as he imagines Noctis pressed up behind him. The alpha would wait until he’s soft and worked open, dripping slick, his release wet and messy on his belly. Noct would wait until he’s like this, and then he’d fuck him open, he’d be rough and needy and he’d knot him _so_ good…

 

Another little gush of slick wets his thighs and Prompto whines.

 

He rolls over onto his back, a hand drifting down to trace lightly over his softening cock through his underwear, and he feels it twitch. There’s the burning, too-much sensation, bordering pain—he’s so oversensitive, too stimulated for it to be entirely good—but Prompto realizes he still loves it, that he _likes_ it being too intense, likes the way it makes his head swim.

 

Reaching for his phone, Prompto stares at the time. He’s still got thirty minutes before he needs to get up…

 

Oh, what the hell. He gives his cock a good squeeze, feels it twitch back to life, slowly, wet and messy, trapped in his ruined underwear, and Prompto _moans._ Noctis wouldn’t let him off that easy, after all, would he…?

 

\---

 

It’s a good thing, really, that his friendship with Noctis comes so easily. It might be awkward, otherwise, to be so close to a best friend that he’s actively jerking off to at every possible opportunity.

 

Noct’s in a mood today, and Prompto’s pretty sure his best friend’s definitely going to be rutting soon. He _smells_ intense, like smoke and spice, something so _complex_ that Prompto can’t quite place it. No alpha smells the way Noct does, though. Maybe it’s the magic running in his veins, or maybe Prompto just can’t even _imagine_ anyone else in his life, slotting into the space in his heart that Noctis occupies.

 

It sucks—partially because as an omega, as Noct’s best friend, his body screams for him to be there, to help Noctis through it. Prompto’s heats _suck,_ a lot, and he hates riding them out alone. It’s gotta be worse for Noct, so used to facing everything alone…

 

“Hey. Sleeping beauty. You daydreaming again?” Noct’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Prompto fidgets, his cheeks burning a sudden, vibrant bright. He’s been caught fantasizing about his best friend. _Again._

 

“Thought _you’re_ the sleeping beauty,” Prompto teases back lightly. “ _I_ was awake bright and early, thank you very much.”

 

He leaves out the part where he was frantically masturbating to the idea of being rough-fucked and dominated by Noctis, of course.

 

“I’m prince charming, though,” Noctis points out, with a devilish little smirk crossing his lips. “I’m a _real_ prince, so you can’t argue that.”

 

Prompto’s stomach does a little flip. “You’re so full of shit, Noct,” he says, instead of all the things he _wants_ to say. As usual.

 

They’re at Noct’s place, and Prompto’s happy, relaxed, despite that tight knot of pent-up desire that’s a constant in his life, lately. Always, in the back of his mind, is the urge to be marked and claimed, to belong to his best friend. It doesn’t mean he isn’t grateful to be here, though. Noct’s place feels like home, so much more than his empty house does.

 

“Whatever,” Noctis sighs. “What you wanna do tonight?”

 

_You._

 

Prompto doesn’t say that, obviously, but he can’t help but think it. Thank god it’s a Friday night, at least, and they have the weekend to look forward to. So far, nobody’s ruined their plans of doing absolutely nothing, and Prompto can only hope that Ignis takes pity on them this weekend. It’d be nice to have some time to relax.

 

Shrugging, Prompto tips his head to watch Noct from the corner of his eye. They’re flopped on his couch. They’d decided to watch a new movie, but the remote is _just_ out of reach for both of them, and neither of them particularly wants to move to grab it and get the television set up. Noct’s chronically lazy, as always, and Prompto’s just… a little overwhelmed by how _good_ Noctis smells, by how easy it is to dive into fantasies…

 

He really shouldn’t. It’s a dangerous game, with how _sensitive_ his body’s been. The last thing he needs is to pop a boner on Noct’s couch.

 

“Dunno, dude. You’re the picky one. What you wanna do?”

 

Noctis looks thoughtful for a moment, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, and then…

 

“You can keep a secret, right?”

 

That catches Prompto’s interest. He perks up a little, sitting up, leaning forward. “Duh, Noct. I’m your best friend. Who do I even _have_ to talk to, other than you?”

 

His mind’s racing. Prompto wonders if this is it, if Noct’s gonna tell him that he _knows,_ and it’s going to fuck up their friendship. Or… maybe it won’t, maybe they can mess around some. He doesn’t track Noct’s cycles (cuz it’d be _weird,_ and also far too fucking tempting) but maybe his friend’s going to be rutting soon, and it would be so easy to keep him company…

 

Noctis is giving him a weird look, and Prompto snaps back to reality.

 

“Wait here,” Noctis grins lazily, as he drags himself up off the couch. Prompto does his best not to stare at his best friend’s ass. He’s wearing sweatpants but goddamnit they _cling_ so nicely – how do sweatpants even do that? Unfair.

 

Prompto isn’t left waiting long. A few moments later, and Noctis shuffles back into the room. He’s holding something, small nearly indistinguishable, and Prompto leans forward, trying to get a good look—and fuck, he almost bursts out laughing when he realizes what Noct’s got.

 

“Dude. You’re the _prince,_ how the hell did you get weed?”

 

Noctis looks pleased with himself. Smug bastard – he _always_ looks pleased with himself.

 

“Don’t ask,” he says quickly, dismissively, but his lips are twitching, and it’s obvious Noctis knows that Prompto’s interested. “You wanna go out on the balcony and smoke?”

 

They’re young and dumb, so of _course_ Prompto does. He jumps up, grabbing the blanket that’s thrown across the couch to drag out with them. It’s dark out, and in Insomnia, once the sun goes down, it tends to get cold out, especially from the top of Noct’s high-rise apartment. Noctis leads the way, holding the door open for Prompto, and they collapse down together, a giggling heap of teenage boys who _know_ they’re about to do something they shouldn’t.

 

“You can have the first drag,” Noctis offers, as he passes the joint over. Prompto grins, lifting the filter to his lips. There’s a little _flutter_ in his belly as Noct leans in with the lighter, the flame catching and burning. He takes a deep, harsh drag, feeling the smoke tendril and curl down his throat—it burns, it’s like fire in his belly, but it’s so _good._

 

Prompto coughs harshly, the sound breaking through the silent night air around them, as he passes the joint over.

 

“… fuck,” of course, he finds himself laughing, as Noctis takes a hit, tipping his head back and breathing smoke into the night air, a cough wracking at his best friend’s throat as well, though it’s not nearly as bad as the coughing fit Prompto’s descended into. Between giggling chokes, though, Noctis passes it back, and Prompto accepts, taking another deep hit, feeling the slow, euphoric fog overtake him.

 

When the joint’s burned down to nothing, just a filter topped with sooty, dark ashes, Noctis dabs it out on the ground and sets it aside. They’ll get rid of the evidence later. They’re both _definitely_ high. Well, Prompto knows he is. He suddenly feels very _small._ The night sky towers over them; the stars are vibrant specks of light swimming in a sea of black. Every detail stands out. Around them, the city is bustling—there’s cars down below on the freeways, neon lights, people bustling out and about. Here, it’s just the two of them. Up here, it’s just _Prince Noctis,_ and Prompto realizes just how _lucky_ he is to be here.

 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Noctis remarks, leaning in a little closer. They’re snuggled up under the blanket. Definitely a good move, bringing it out here.

 

“So are you, dude,” Prompto points out, with a smile.

 

Noctis makes a soft sound, a sleepy one, and his head tips to the side, coming to rest on Prompto’s shoulder. _Fuck._ It’s an innocent gesture. Noct’s done this before, but Prompto can feel the soft weight of him, through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. He can feel Noct’s hair tickling his neck, he’s hyperaware of the sound of his best friend breathing, of how _soft_ his lips would feel. They’re just so _close._

 

“Why do you _have_ this stuff, anyway?” Prompto asks. Noctis had said not to ask, but… this is totally something _Prompto_ would get his hands on and excitedly bring to Noct’s attention, not the other way around.

 

Noctis flushes a little, but he doesn’t draw back. “… got a prescription, dude,” he says, quietly.

 

Prompto blinks. “You? The prince? They gave you this stuff?”

 

He’s well aware most prescriptions are bullshit, thinly veiled excuses to easily get the _good_ stuff, because Lucis is still kinda backwards and hasn’t fully legalized. Noctis joked once that the world just needs to wait until he’s king, but they both know that there’s a whole council making the _real_ decisions, and Noct’s job will be to be the face of the country. It’s hard to instill _real_ change.

 

“… for my ruts,” Noctis admits, after a silence, and Prompto can’t help but flush a little. He tips his head back, and he can’t see Noct’s face, but he swears it’s a shade hotter, pressed against his shoulder. Stupid, really, how basic biology can reduce them into dumb, embarrassed messes.

 

“… they hurt?” Prompto asks. He can’t help it, he’s curious. His own heats are fucking painful, full of cramps and feverish hot flashes, and that incessant need to be _satisfied._ His hand and toys can only do so much, too.

 

“Do we really wanna talk about this?” Noctis groans, but he’s too high to _really_ complain, and Prompto knows, for once, he’s worked Noct’s barriers down. Well, the drugs have, but he’s pretty damn sure Noct made the choice to let himself be vulnerable here. _Can you keep a secret?_ He’d asked. Prompto would go to the end of the world and back, he’d die, before he gave up Noct’s secrets.

 

“It’s kinda dumb that we _don’t_ talk about it,” Prompto admits, with a shake of his head, a little giggle pulling at his chest. It’s easy, when they’re both not quite so stuck in their heads, to talk about it. Of course, Prompto’s fantasies run _deep,_ and he’s all too aware that boundaries exist, but right now, he’s stuck on how _dumb_ it is. How stupid that they hide this part of their lives from each other—they’re best friends. They share _everything._

 

Noctis doesn’t speak for a moment. “… I guess, huh?” he agrees, finally. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, Noct’s snuggling a little closer, until their sides are outright pressed together, shoulder-to-waist. It makes Prompto shudder, and not from the cold.

 

“… it’s stupid. Ignis is always warning me to be careful,” Noctis shakes his head. “As if I don’t _know_ that I’m the prince. That I gotta be careful. They all wish I was just born a beta so that they didn’t have to worry about gross alpha stuff…” he trails off, shaking his head, and goes silent for another moment. Prompto doesn’t push it.

 

He stares up at the sky, and nudges his shoulder silently, encouraging, into Noct’s.

 

“I’m supposed to just. Hole up and deal with it, during ruts,” Noctis sighs, after a moment. “It’s… a weird pain. It’s intense, and my moods get really shitty before it happens.”

 

“I know,” Prompto blurts out. Noctis lifts his head up, and gives him a _look,_ and he quickly continues. “I mean. The moods. Dude, I can smell your rut coming a mile off. It’s not hard to piece together. Omega instincts, y’know?”

 

Their eyes meet, and even in the darkness, Prompto’s always blown away by just how fucking _gorgeous_ his best friend is. Noctis looks flustered, his cheeks just slightly flushed, his hair mussed, eyes such a dark blue that the night sky makes them look black. It’s not fair, really, just how _perfect_ Noctis is—the longing bursts through Prompto, like a wave surging and breaking on the shoreline during a storm, fuck.

 

“… it’s just,” Noctis sighs, looking down, though he doesn’t lean in again. “It’s not like we live in some ancient time where shit like birth control doesn’t exist. And I’m not saying I wanna fuck anything that moves, Prom, don’t _think_ that, everyone else already does, I swear—”

 

“I’m not,” Prompto interrupts, his eyes narrowing, “Noct. Again, dude. _Omega._ I’ve heard the shit that people say.” Lucis is progressive, thank fucking god, but that doesn’t mean the older generations don’t _talk._ The majority of people are betas; alphas and omegas have never been particularly _rare,_ but it was never spoken of, really, until recently.

 

“I know what it’s like, Noct,” Prompto sighs, tipping his head back against the wall, staring up at the night sky. “Didn’t we _have_ this talk? Heats suck, dude. I’m gonna just start getting really high when I have to ride them out, honestly… it’s a good idea.”

 

Noctis shakes his head, but he’s laughing softly, and it makes Prompto smile.

 

“You don’t have to spend them alone, though. If… you wanted to find someone,” Noctis says, after a moment. “It’s not like my situation. I’m the _prince,_ everyone would murder me if I… dated someone.”

 

There’s _so_ much Prompto can say. It’s all at the very tip of his fucking tongue, and he wants to scream it all out. He wasn’t joking, when he offered to stay at Noct’s side. He’d give him the world, he’d stay with Noctis through his ruts, he’d let the alpha prince knot him, put babies in him, _anything._ His body’s screaming for it, his stomach is twisting, he can practically _feel_ his stomach filling out. God, he’s stuck with the sudden, deep desire to be Noct’s _everything._

 

All it would take is Noctis leaning in, those teeth grazing over a scent gland in his neck, _biting,_ marking, claiming…

 

Prompto shudders. He realizes he’s been silent; instead of saying everything, he’s said nothing at all.

 

“I don’t—” Prompto tries to say, and his voice breaks and cracks. Embarrassed, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, and snuggles down deeper under the blankets, as if that will hide him. “… I mean. _You’re_ the only person I wanna be around, Noct.”

 

That was… not a smooth move. Prompto flushes even deeper, and apparently weed makes his dumb mind work in even _dumber_ ways, because that’s about three quarters of the way to a full on love confession. He groans, tipping his head back.

 

“I just mean… goddamnit, Noctis. You’re my best friend. You’re like, my _only_ friend. And you’re an alpha. It’s hard for it _not_ to be weird sometimes, y’know?”

 

“I don’t want it to be weird,” Noctis sighs, but suddenly he’s leaning back in. Prompto leans in as well – he has to, it’s electrifying, Noct’s a magnetic source. He’s always been drawn to the prince, and that will never change, god, and Prompto doesn’t _want_ it to change, despite everything.

 

“Me either,” Prompto sighs. It’s going to be weird, though. _He’s_ the one making it weird – and a hand skimming under the blanket, rubbing across his belly, pushing his t-shirt up and feeling the flat, warm plane of his stomach only solidifies that. What would Noctis even _say,_ if Prompto asked him – genuinely, sincerely – to ride out a heat with him? If he just showed up during Noct’s rut, would his best friend turn him away?

 

“… can we talk about something else?” Noctis asks suddenly, quietly.

 

Prompto nods, because if he thinks about _this_ any longer, he’s going to fall even deeper. Already, he’s imagining Noctis taking his hand, leading him back to bed. He’s imagining the alpha hovering over him, tugging his shirt up over his head, kissing his way down Prompto’s belly, licking slick from his inner thigh. He’s wondering just how _big_ Noct’s knot swells up, thighs shifting a little, a bit of wetness gathering. God, he’s _wet_ just from thinking, his cock starting to swell to life—

 

Noctis breathes in deeply, and Prompto swears, there’s the softest of needy _sounds_ escaping his best friend’s lips. He freezes, though, and it’s enough to stop the onslaught of invasive thoughts.

 

“Dude, I’m _starving,”_ Prompto announces, letting his mind pull him in the opposite direction of carnal instincts. “You wanna order a pizza?”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, quickly – a little too quickly – and for a moment, Prompto realizes just how _close_ he was to being figured out. If he’d been paying attention a little more, he would’ve picked up on Noct’s scent shifting, on the heavy arousal pulsing in the air around them, of the way his best friend’s hand slid down under the blankets, too…

 

But, he’s too worried about his own secret, and they don’t want to make things _weird._ Even if _weird_ is a daily norm at this point—they aren’t quite there yet. So, instead, they order their usual pizza, settle down on the couch for a movie marathon, and they don’t talk about weird sex things again that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not a moonside fic unless these boys are getting high, right? so i might as well just get it out of my system early LMAO. 
> 
> i want to point out that--you can't really do ABO without tackling SOME sort of social commentary. i headcanon that in lucis, it's fairly progressive, but it's a majority beta population and a bit of a double-standard for poor noctis. poor prompto's heats are rough, and noct's the prince and that urge to spread his royal seed probably isn't helping the whole affair. ;) shame they can't... come to a mutual agreement... haahaha....ha. 
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading!! I'm thriving on all your feedback, my crops are flourishing and it's seriously making my entire fucking life currently. i'm so busy with work and life and this fic is just. A JOY to write, so please, keep it coming. <3 <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto wants to be there. He wants Noctis to use him, to take out all his frustrations on him. He wants to be spread open by the royal prince, to fuck himself back on that thick knot and milk him for all he’s worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is for @Overlimits. I am calling you the fuck out. pretty much everything she told me to write in this chapter i had..... already planned on writing. there is a promptis hivemind, AND IT IS STRONG, OK. seriously. it's getting creepy.

It’s a good weekend with Noctis. It always is. Prompto lets himself get lost in his best friend, the way he always does. There’s the nagging thought, ever-present in the back of his mind, that Noctis smells _too_ good, he probably shouldn’t be here. The mood swings, Noct’s appetite getting bigger than usual, _god the scent…_

 

It means one thing, and Prompto knows he should not be around his best friend when he’s about to rut. He can’t bring himself to leave, though.

 

Noct’s extra affectionate, too, and Prompto’s thriving. They’re cuddled up on the couch. They always sit close, with absolutely no regard for personal space, but right now, Noct’s got an arm thrown over his shoulder. Prompto’s face is half-buried in Noct’s arm, and they’re passing the controller back and forth with the single player RPG they’re indulging in. They’re mostly through the main story, and Prompto _knows_ he should find an excuse to go, before Noctis is _actually_ rutting, but—they’re like fifty hours into this stupid game. And, of course, he’s _enjoying_ being this close, being enveloped in the musky scent of alpha.

 

“ ‘m hungry,” Noctis grumbles, agitation creeping into his voice. “Let’s order food.”

 

Prompto lifts his head – but only a little, it smells _so_ good – and glances at his best friend, a playful little grin on his face. “Noct, dude. How the hell are you hungry, we _just_ ate.” They’d gone out for brunch, when Noctis had finally dragged his ass out of bed.

 

Their eyes meet, and Prompto realizes that they’ve _changed_ a little. They’ve gotten darker, Noct’s pupils dilated, the irises a darker, steelier blue than usual. And… fuck. Noctis looks _hungry._ Noct’s giving him a look, one that makes Prompto squirm, makes heat blossom in his belly. He feels warm, he feels like he’s a delicious treat—like he’s prey, and Noct’s the predator.

 

Prompto does his best not to _shudder._ He has to wrench his eyes away, otherwise he’s going to be lost, otherwise he might do something he’ll regret.

 

“Chinese sound good?” Noctis asks, after a heavy pause, and Prompto _swears_ Noct’s breathing heavier. They’re all wrapped up in blankets, but he has to wonder—is this having an effect on his best friend? Because, god, Prompto can feel the arousal starting to pool, he knows that his thighs are going to be wet with slick, if they keep this up. Already, his cock is starting to stir to life…

 

He _needs_ to leave. Fuck. If Noctis ruts, if he _asks,_ Prompto’s going to give himself away. He’s going to throw himself at his best friend, and there’s no going back.

 

“… it’s getting kinda late,” Prompto points out, a bit nervously. It’s not. It’s the middle of the afternoon. He’s creating an out, and they both know it. He’s giving Noctis the opportunity to tell him he should leave—and fuck, Prompto doesn’t _want_ to. He wants to stay. He wants, with his whole fucking being, to let Noctis rut into him, to take him, to _claim_ him.

 

God, it’d fuck everything up, wouldn’t it? If he was knotted by his best friend, filled up, if he grew round and glowing with the goddamn _heir_ to the throne of Lucis...?

 

Prompto’s never wanted anything so much.

 

“What, you wanna leave and miss out on the food?” Noctis asks, a heartbeat later. “… c’mon, Prom. _Stay.”_

 

Fuck. Prompto’s heart is thumping wildly in his chest. He nods, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Noctis smells _so_ good— but he’s so torn. He wants it, more than anything. Prompto’s mind is racing. Does this mean that Noctis wants him back? He can’t trust that, not when Noct’s about to rut. Not when his body is going haywire, when that thick, alpha scent is signifying that he’s being influenced by things other than logic, other than what he actually _wants._ Prompto doesn’t know what to say, or what to do.

 

Of course, he doesn’t have to decide, anyway. Everything is suddenly ruined, because there’s a knock on the door.

 

It’s not that loud, but Prompto _recognizes_ that knock. It’s curt, formal, and abrupt, more a courtesy than a question. There’s not many people that knock on Noct’s door, and nobody who is that distinct, except one person.

 

Noctis groans. Prompto sighs, and dives his face back down into Noct’s arm, breathing in that scent while he still can.

 

“What do you want, Ignis?” Noctis grumbles, as the door clicks and swings open. He doesn’t bother to pause the game, or look up from the screen. Noct’s moods, where his advisor is involved, can be short, clipped, in the best of circumstances. When he’s hormonal and grumpy, Prompto knows it gets so much worse.

 

“… I brought you, ah, _supplies,_ Noctis,” Ignis explains, and Prompto can pretty much hear the rolling of Ignis’s eyes in his tone, the impatience sneaking in. “You’ll thank me in a day or so.”

 

Noctis grumbles under his breath. “You know it’s _super_ creepy that you track my rut cycles, right?”

 

“ _Someone_ has to, you don’t take care of yourself,” Ignis replies, curtly. Prompto hears the footsteps, as Ignis walks closer; he dives down deeper into the blankets, thinking _maybe_ his presence won’t be noticed…

 

“… Prompto?” Ignis says, though, as he peeks over the edge of the couch. Prompto sighs shakily, and he’s pretty sure he’s flushing bright red as he lifts his face up out of Noct’s arm. Next to him, his best friend twitches and shifts, pausing the game, and there’s a strange flicker of emotion crossing Noct’s face. Possessiveness? Is _that_ it? Noctis looks irritated, more than usual, as Prompto disentangles himself, rubbing a hand through his hair, self-conscious and awkward.

 

“Uh. Hi Iggy!” Prompto tries his best to sound chipper, as if he wasn’t just busted outright _drowning_ himself in alpha scent.

 

_“Noctis.”_ Ignis says in a tone that absolutely drips disapproval. “We have _had_ this discussion.”

 

Noctis twists in his seat. Prompto can tell that an argument’s about to break out, and he groans. That’s the last thing he wants—he’s pretty sure Ignis already disapproves of their friendship. He’s an _omega,_ after all, and it’s very fucking obvious to everyone involved that Noct’s about to rut. He should have left, he shouldn’t have pushed his luck—

 

“Iggy, c’mon, you need to stop acting like I _lose_ control of myself, or something!” Noct’s saying, eyes narrowed, absolutely bristling with energy. “Can you see past the whole shitty ‘alpha’ and ‘omega’ thing? Maybe I just wanna hang out with my best fucking friend all night, god knows you keep me busy enough during the week!”

 

Ignis isn’t buying it. Prompto thinks, for a minute, that maybe he’ll give in and leave them alone. But, at the same time—his mind is racing. Noct’s just made it _very_ clear that he has no intention of acting on his rut. That’s what it is, isn’t it? Just the hormones clouding his judgment. He doesn’t _want_ to fuck him.

 

Prompto suddenly feels very stupid, all over again. He always feels dumb, having such intense fantasies about the prince, but to think, for even a _moment,_ that Noctis really wanted to knot him….

 

He’s so fucking stupid.

 

“I’m gonna go,” Prompto says, abruptly, dragging himself up off the couch in a hurry. He’s a tangled, twisted mess, limbs all caught in the blankets, and it takes way longer than it should. It’s a bit of a walk of shame, as he rushes down the hallway to gather his things – scattered around Noct’s room.

 

He desperately _wants_ to stay.

 

But fuck, Noctis just made it clear, didn’t he? He just wants to be with his best friend. If Prompto stays, _he’s_ going to be influenced by that fucking amazing scent. He’s going to get caught up in his fantasies, and if Noctis fucked him, if he gave in, that would ruin their friendship. That would destroy _everything_ he’s carefully built up.

 

Still, Prompto can’t shake how badly he wants it, as he crams his school uniform, his camera, the clothes he’d worn yesterday, all into his backpack. And… fuck. He’s just about done packing, when he sees one of Noct’s shirts lying in a tangled mess on the floor. It’s the shirt Noctis wore yesterday, one of his favourite ones, a bit thread-bare and worn, and so _soft._

 

Prompto hesitates for a moment, and then – so fucking guiltily – he scoops the shirt up, tucking it into his bag. He can’t help it. It’s soft, and it reminds him of Noctis, and it’s clinging with alpha scent, so fucking _good…_

Ignis and Noctis have finished their quiet, frantic argument, apparently, by the time Prompto reemerges, his backpack thrown over his shoulder, phone in hand.

 

“… hey. Text me, if you want some company, Noct, k?” Prompto says, quietly, flushing a little and staring down at the ground.

 

Noctis twists though, looking over the back of the couch, and Prompto can’t help it. When his alpha – fuck, Noctis isn’t _his,_ but he feels like it, sometimes – looks at him, he has to lift his own eyes, to meet that gorgeous gaze. There’s a jolt of something electric in the air, and Prompto’s stomach jumps to his throat. Noct’s _watching_ him, and even though he’s just said otherwise, Prompto swears, there’s _need_ in that gaze.

 

“I’ll call you,” Noctis says softly. “And don’t worry about me. I can handle things.”

 

Prompto nods, sighing.

 

“Come on, Prompto,” Ignis says, curtly, “I’ll give you a ride home.”

 

_Fuck._

 

“It’s okay, I can take the train--!” Prompto tries to insist, but Ignis is shaking his head and _insisting,_ and suddenly the spell is broken. Noct’s laughing at him and waving with a lazy grin, the smug asshole. Prompto simply lets himself be led out of the apartment and down the hall to the elevator. In his hand, his phone buzzes, and Prompto glances down.

 

Noct [15:32]: hahhaha good fucking luck dude ur in for such a lecture LOL

 

\---

 

Insomnia traffic around Noct’s apartment building is awful, even on the middle of a Sunday afternoon. It probably would have been faster to walk to the station and catch a train home, Prompto thinks miserably as he curls up in the front seat of the fancy citadel-issued car that Ignis drives. Of course, it’s raining, which both makes the traffic worse, and also reminds Prompto that at least he’s not running through it.

 

It _also_ makes him wish, desperately, more than anything, that he was curled up at Noct’s place still. Even if his best friend doesn’t _want_ him, the distraction would be welcome, right? He doesn’t mind if Noct wants to press his face into his neck and breathe in his omega scent. He doesn’t mind cuddling, or if Noct really _does_ need to knot, Prompto would still offer his body up. It doesn’t have to be a relationship, right? He can settle with friends-with-benefits….

 

Mostly, he just wants to be anywhere but _here._

 

“Thanks for the drive,” Prompto mumbles, a little nervously, just to break the silence. He keeps his gaze pointedly directed out the window, watching the raindrops spatter and run down the glass. The red and orange shine of car headlights and taillights reflects in the wet surface of the concrete, turning the whole world into a blur out there.

 

The car nudges forward a little, before rolling to a stop again. Damn Insomnia traffic.

 

“Of course,” Ignis replies, smoothly. Prompto _thinks_ he knows Noct’s advisor well enough to hear a slightly nervous hitch in his voice. Here it is, it’s _definitely_ coming… “Prompto. I was hoping we could chat.”

 

Inwardly, Prompto is simultaneous groaning and panicking. Ignis has more authority than Noctis wants to admit. Soft spot for the crown prince or not, he’s probably got the power to forbid Prompto from seeing Noctis. Not that he thinks, for a moment, that Noct would listen, but that could make life that much more complicated.

 

“… chat? Bout what, Iggy? I swear, I _told_ Noct to do his homework before we started playing that game—” Prompto really _hates_ the idea that he’s a bad influence. He’s not. Okay, so sure, maybe he’s got those fantasies, and maybe they involve him being pregnant with the royal heir, and maybe he’s _way_ too young to be entertaining that notion. But it’s not like it’ll _ever_ be acceptable, and it’s not like he’s trying to do that—

 

“Oh, I’m not concerned about his homework,” Ignis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “… please, never let Noctis know I just _said_ that. He’ll use it against me until the end of time.” His hands are gripping the wheel a little too stiffly. Prompto’s used to dealing with people. He’d forced the confident air until it’s almost plausible, and he knows how to read people.

 

“… please, Prompto. You need to be the responsible one,” Ignis finally says. The car shifts forward a little more, as they snake into another lane that’s creeping by just a little faster. “As much as Noctis vilifies me, this is _not_ the fate I’d choose for one of my closest friends. I know he wants to make his own decisions, but…”

 

Prompto frowns. He shifts a little further back in his seat. He fucking hates this way Ignis has of talking half-truths and dancing around real words. He’s not _good_ at figuring out the meaning, and it makes him feel dumb. And, worse of all, it means he has to push back.

 

“Ignis. I don’t even _know_ what you’re trying to say…” Prompto sighs. “Noct’s my best friend. I just go along with what he says. I promise you, dude, he’s not doing anything worse than skipping class sometimes and eating too many pancakes.”

 

At the very least, the car’s starting to move forward steadily, now. They’re off the main stretch of busy street, and traffic is beginning to flow regularly. Prompto sighs out a little bit of relief, as Ignis focuses on the road. It won’t be too long until he’s home.

 

Ignis isn’t letting him off that easily, though.

 

“I’d never get in the way of your friendship,” he says, quietly. “Please… trust me on that, Prompto. I _know_ Noctis relies on you. He’s… never been as happy as he is, when he’s with you.”

 

Prompto’s cheeks flush bright red, and he looks away, quickly, fidgeting in his seat. His hands are twisting in his lap. Noctis is his whole world, but he can’t _say_ that. He doesn’t have to, anyway, because Ignis keeps talking.

 

“I’m asking you to simply… remember that, biologically, things are a little more complex than a simple friendship. Is it _really_ a good idea to be alone with a rutting alpha? You need to be responsible, when Noct cannot be.”

 

_Oh._ Prompto’s pretty sure the colour of his face could rival a very ripe tomato. If he could sink down into the plush leather seat until he was completely buried, he _absolutely_ would. Of course that’s what Ignis is alluding to. How could it be anything else? And… deep down, Prompto knows he’d been very close to making an awful choice. He _knows_ he can’t have Noctis that way. They’d both regret it. But god, imagining it? Even if it was a one-time thing, if something stuck? If he grew round and heavy with the royal heir anyway…?

 

Noct couldn’t hate him for it, could he? He doesn’t know. He’ll _never_ know.

 

“Noctis doesn’t want anything like that,” Prompto tries to insist, shaking his head, when he realizes Ignis is looking at him for a response. The words come out as fumbling and flustered as he feels. “He just wanted the company. I—he told you that himself, Ignis.”

 

The advisor’s eyes soften, as Prompto speaks, from behind his glasses. Sighing, Prompto swears he almost sees a smile twitching at Ignis’s lips, though he doesn’t quite understand why.

 

“And you honestly think Noctis always tells me the truth?” Ignis asks. “… please, Prompto. Just keep my words in mind. _One_ of you has to be smart.”

 

Prompto doesn’t push it, but subconsciously, a hand’s drifting down over his belly, rubbing it thoughtfully through his shirt. He’d been so _close_ to understanding something, but just like that, it’s drifting away.

 

\---

 

The guilt’s back again, as Prompto settles up in his room. The car ride with Ignis took seemingly _forever,_ but now he’s home, to an empty house. There’s still the lingering scent of _Noctis_ in his bed. And, as Prompto unpacks his things, his fingers tremble as he lifts up the shirt he’d stolen.

 

He really shouldn’t have. Prompto knows this.

 

But god, it smells _amazing._

 

It’s funny, how Prompto glances around his bedroom, in his empty home, just to make sure he’s _alone,_ before he tugs the soft, worn fabric to his face. He shudders, full-bodied and needy, as he breathes in the scent. Noctis wore this shirt the day before, and it’s full of his scent—smoky, intense, and carrying an edge of alpha impatience. God, it smells like _rutting_ alpha, and that’s somehow so much more potent.

 

Prompto’s stomach is already twisting, his insides are already fluttering with anticipation. He _shouldn’t,_ but god, he can’t stop breathing it in. Eyes fluttering shut, it’s so easy to pretend that his face is pressed into Noct’s chest instead, that his best friend’s arms are wrapped around him, tugging him close. A quiet, needy moan escapes, as he pictures himself nuzzling into lean, smooth skin, feeling that hard alpha cock nudging against his belly—

 

_“Noct,”_ Prompto moans, shameless already. There’s no denying that the rush of warmth between his thighs is inspired by his best friend. His cock’s already pressing against the front of his pants, and that insatiable desire is building. God, it’s not his heat—it’s just a rut, just his _best friend’s_ rut, but it’s doing things to him.

 

Prompto wants to be there. He wants Noctis to use him, to take out all his frustrations on him. He wants to be spread open by the royal prince, to fuck himself back on that thick knot and milk him for all he’s worth.

 

Taking a step forward, Prompto falls forward onto the bed. He’s still got Noct’s shirt pressed to his face. He’s still breathing in that _scent,_ letting himself fall into fantasy, and it’s so easy.

 

Noct would be _rough_ while he’s rutting. Somehow, instinctively, Prompto knows that. He’s obviously never had anyone—but he’s seen rut porn. He’s seen alphas, abuzz with that hormonal surge that comes with a rut, absolutely _manhandle_ their omegas as needed. Most of the porn is gross, stereotypical, marathon-sex type stuff, but… fuck, it’s hot as hell, imagining Noctis lost like that.

 

The air would crackle with Lucian magic, and Prompto shivers. He can practically feel the electricity in the air, imagined to life simply by his own wanton desires. He can _feel_ Noct’s hands on his hips, fingers digging in roughly, leaving bruises. He’s smaller than his best friend – though not by much – and it’d be so easy to tug him onto his knees, face down, ass pressed into the bed. Or, rather, pressed into his best friend’s shirt.

 

It smells so strongly of _alpha._ His alpha, his _Noctis._

‘You’re already so _wet,’_ Noctis would tease. Prompto knows that his pants are damp. He can feel the slick trickling down his inner thighs, wetting the curve of his ass. It’s so fucking slutty, and he doesn’t care. He’s alone, anyway, and he’s been around an agitated alpha on the verge of rut all damn _weekend._ It’s been messing with his mind. He needs an outlet.

 

“Wet for you…” Prompto whines. He knows it’s _stupid,_ that he’s not talking to anyone. Nobody’s here except for him. It’s still hot as hell, though.

 

He can practically hear Noct’s dark laughter behind him. The alpha would lean over him, and he’d _yelp,_ when he felt the drag of Noct’s teeth over his ass, biting, marking him, through his jeans. Just a playful nip, but fuck, it sets Prompto’s whole body on fire. He shamelessly moans again, arching his back, _presenting_ the nape of his neck. He wants to be marked, he wants to be claimed, _bonded_ to Noctis forever.

 

He doesn’t care that they’re young, that they’re stupid, that maybe this won’t last. Already, Prompto knows, he’s Noct’s forever.

 

Prompto only shifts long enough to frantically work the button and zipper of his jeans. He keeps his face firmly planted in Noct’s shirt, though, adjusting his weight to balance on one arm. He kicks his pants and underwear to the side, sighing as his fingers swipe through the slick wetting his thighs.

 

His shirt’s already hiked up over his chest, and Prompto doesn’t bother to tug it off. His nipples are hard – he’s blaming the cool air of his room, though it’s not cold at all – and rubbing against the fabric of his sheets. The friction feels so _nice,_ his whole body is oversensitive.

 

‘You want a knot?’ Fantasy-Noct teases, and Prompto moans again. He wiggles his hips, arches further, putting his ass on display. It’s wet, glistening with his slick, pink and slightly swollen and so _ready_ for him.

 

“Need your knot,” Prompto begs, as he gets another lungful of the scent of _Noctis._ He’s never needed anything more in his entire life, he’s pretty sure. His limbs are trembling, and they feel like jelly, but Noctis would hold him up, would keep him steady. Noct’s not here, though, and Prompto lets himself collapse onto the bed. His cock’s fully hard – shamefully, _untouched –_ and he outright whines, rutting into the sheets, groaning at the friction. The head of his cock is wet with precome, and it’s catching in the blankets, staining them and ruining them already.

 

How many pairs of sheets is he gonna ruin, getting off to his best friend?

 

Does it fucking matter?

 

‘Impatient,’ Noctis would growl, but fantasy-Noct is adaptable. He doesn’t care that Prompto’s collapsed into a needy mess of horny omega in the bed. The fantasy shifts, and suddenly, Prompto’s imagining his best friend draped over his back. He can practically feel Noctis weighing him down. The subtle shift of muscle is hot as hell, and Prompto _moans,_ needy, rutting his hard cock into the blankets more.

 

“Please, _highness,”_ Prompto whines, because he gets the feeling that Noctis would like that. His best friend hates the title, but he lets Prompto get away with saying it. Usually, it’s teasing. Right now, it’s slotting very nicely into his fantasies of being controlled by Noctis, being owned by him. All he wants is to give himself fully over to the future king.

 

Prompto imagines how good the drag of Noct’s cock would feel. It’d be so hard, aching with his rut, the knot already beginning to swell, even though they weren’t even _joined_ yet. It’d be such a messy union, and Noctis would fill him so fully. He’d knot him once, fuck him through his orgasm, into another, and _another,_ until they’re both messy, covered in streaks of come and slick, bodies sweaty, the bed ruined…

 

Another needy whine escapes, as his cock drools all over the blankets. He’s hard. Prompto snakes a hand back, rubs two fingers over his slick entrance. He’s so worked up, they slide in easily, even with the awkward, terrible angle. It’s not the right sort of friction, it doesn’t go _deep_ enough, doesn’t give him that burning, fucked-open feeling he’s craving, but—

 

God, combined with his fantasy, of Noct’s thick cock sliding into him, stretching him, Prompto _moans._ He breathes in the scent of Noct, it feels so _good,_ he’s going to come, and fast, just from pretending he’s being pounded into the mattress.

 

And then, of _course,_ Prompto’s phone vibrates on the bed next to him.

 

He freezes.

 

Nobody calls him. Prompto’s already established that nobody _ever_ wants to talk to him, unless it’s Noctis, or someone _looking_ for Noct. His parents sure as hell don’t call. Prompto doesn’t have any other friends.

 

His cock twitches. Prompto debates ignoring it, but the draw is so _real,_ the pull magnetic. Like he can refuse Noctis, even when he’s in the middle of jerking off to a fantasty of him. He wrenches his fingers free, wiping the slick on the sheets, outright trembling as he reaches for the phone. Sure enough, a quick glance at the screen confirms that _yes,_ Noctis Lucis Caelum is indeed calling him.

 

Not _texting._ Calling.

 

“… what’s up, Noct?”

 

Prompto’s aware that his voice is unsteady. It’s shaky, and it’s probably _very_ obvious that he’s rough and breathless with arousal.

 

Noctis makes a quiet, needy sound in the back of his throat. Or, at least, that’s where Prompto’s mind is taking him. It very easily could just be static, or Noctis breathing a little too heavily. Fuck, _why_ is Noctis calling him?

 

“Bored,” Noctis drawls, and Prompto can practically hear his best friend shrug it off. But god, there’s a quality to his voice, a tone that he can’t quite shake. “What’s the point of an afternoon off if I’m spending it alone?”

 

Prompto manages a quiet little laugh. His cock is twitching still, hard and flush against his belly. He rolls onto his side, and the shift of his thighs smears a little more slick around. Fuck, he’s _aching._ He wants to touch himself, but—no. He can’t do that. That’s just weird, jerking off to his best friend. Plus, Prompto knows he’s not sneaky. Noctis would figure him out in an instant.

 

“Aren’t you like, rutting, dude?” Prompto asks, and he _hopes_ he’s playing it off as casual. He _hopes._ “Go work one off, Noct, and take a nap. You’ll feel better.”

 

“Porn is boring,” Noctis sighs out, in return. “I _tried,_ Prom. I don’t have anything to distract me, and I’m pretty sure Ignis will murder me if I invite you back over.”

 

Prompto’s fingers are itching. He wants to touch himself, to _moan_ Noct’s name, to give his best friend a damn good distraction. God, he wants Noctis more than he’s ever wanted him—and that’s saying a lot. Prompto _always_ wants his best friend, and it’s only gotten progressively worse since his fantasies started shifting.

 

“You’re watching the wrong porn, then, Noct. I know some good stuff,” Prompto laughs, and then flushes bright red, because he’s pretty sure his idea of hot porn is… super gross. The last thing Noctis needs is to see that he’s getting off on pregnant omegas being fucked into the next century. It’d hit just a little too close to home to their own conversations.

 

There’s a pause on the phone.

 

“You’re holding out on me, Prom? Not sharing the good stuff?” Noctis teases, and Prompto has to bite back the automatic response that comes to mind. Oh, he’d share _everything_ with Noctis. All his best friend has to do is ask, and he’ll be there in a heartbeat. He can call a rideshare, he can be at Noct’s in fifteen minutes, _fuck_ what Ignis said, fuck the world…

 

“Hang on. Want me to send you some links?” Prompto asks, shifting to reach for his laptop. He’s pointedly ignoring the fact that it’s _kinda_ weird to be sharing porn with his best friend.

 

“Yeah. Cool,” Noctis agrees, breathless, and now that they’re starting to drop all pretenses, Prompto can _hear_ the agitation in Noct’s voice, the neediness. God, _alpha,_ his very soul is screaming. They aren’t bonded, they aren’t even fucking _dating,_ they’re just best friends, but already, his body is responding. If he really was Noct’s omega, he’d be there to chase all the pain and agitation away…

 

Noct’s next words, though, they render Prompto properly speechless.

 

“You wanna watch it with me?”

 

Prompto’s been doing his best to keep it cool, to keep his shit together. He thinks he’s been doing an okay job. Except _this time,_ he manages to make the most pathetic sound, his fingers trembling violently, the phone slipping from his fingers to fall on the bed. Flushing, he frantically reaches for it, lifts it back to his ear.

 

“… sorry,” Noct’s saying, “too weird?”

 

Ignis’s words are echoing in Prompto’s mind, somewhere. They should be careful. They shouldn’t push this further than it’s already gone. Prompto needs to be the responsible one. Phone sex with his best friend is _not_ responsible. Noct’s rutting, and a part of Prompto tells himself that he shouldn’t take advantage of his horny best friend.

 

“You sure?” Prompto finds himself saying instead.

 

“Prom. I’m not suddenly rendered helpless or something,” Noctis grumbles back. “I’m pissed off and horny. Doesn’t mean I can’t make decisions on my own. I don’t wanna jerk off all alone.”

 

Oh, fuck what Ignis says. Fuck what the world says. Prompto’s free hand slides down over his belly, strokes thoughtfully, and he _whines,_ deep in the back of his throat. Audible enough for Noctis to hear, through the phone.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, “let me find something good for us to watch…”

 

He only hopes they won’t regret this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao why am i like this  
> also, in case you haven't noticed from the tags, this is very quickly descending into 'yes teen pregnancy' territory so pls stop reading if that offends you.....


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto’s heart is leaping into his chest, and he’s doing his best to bite back all the words he wants to say. Noctis doesn’t have to be alone. His best friend doesn’t have to ride it out by himself, because Prompto’s right here. He’ll stay at Noct’s side, his best friend can use him, rut into him, fill him up… he doesn’t care if it’s just the hormones talking, or if it can’t extend past that. Prompto’s just gotten his first taste of Noct, and if he was addicted before, now he’s absolutely hopelessly gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops this is just porn, is anyone surprised at this point?

The smart thing for Prompto to do, of course, is to tell Noctis that he’s _definitely_ thinking with his dick right now, and to go watch porn and they’ll talk later.

 

But, fuck, Prompto’s hormones are tripping him up. He’s so _hard,_ there’s so much slick wetting his thighs, and he’s… admittedly, very goddamn thirsty for his best friend. He can’t quite resist the idea of jerking it and _actually_ hearing Noct’s voice on the other end. It’s one of his fucking fantasies leaping straight out of his imagination.

 

His cock gives a little twitch, and Prompto _groans._

 

“Startin’ without me?” Noctis teases, and _fuck,_ the shudder that shoots down Prompto’s spine is honestly pretty damn pathetic.

 

“Isn’t this kinda weird, Noct?” Prompto deflects expertly, ignoring the shaky, breathy quality his voice has taken. It’s funny, how denial is the place he instantly goes to, even though it’s pretty fucking obvious that thing is taking things way too far. Noct’s _rutting,_ he tells himself again, he’s letting hormones drive his decisions. This isn’t _actually_ like Noctis wanting him, outside of those irritable days when he wants to fuck anything that moves.

 

“Prom,” Noctis replies, casually. How the hell is that stupid alpha’s voice so _casual_ all the time?! “We sleep in the same bed. We get changed in front of each other. I’ve definitely seen your dick before, dude. This really that much weirder?”

 

Prompto makes a weird, helpless sound. “… this isn’t gonna make our friendship weird, is it?”

 

“Not unless _you’re_ gonna get weird on me,” Noctis replies, instantly.

 

Prompto almost wants to laugh. He’s _always_ the one making things weird. Fuck, he’s been fantasizing about Noctis knocking him up, dreaming about the crown prince of an entire nation – someone so entirely out of his league, it’s ridiculous – creating royal heirs with him. Things have been weird for a little while now, haven’t they?

 

“… what kinda porn you like to watch, Noct?” Prompto finds himself asking. The words blurt out, and he flushes bright red, even though his best friend can’t see him. Well, that’s an awkward question.

 

There’s a moment of silence, where Prompto’s mind is screaming fuck, he’s managed to scare Noctis off _already,_ but then, Noctis makes a thoughtful sound. “I thought _you_ knew lots of good vids. You’re on porn-sharing duty, Prom.”

 

Prompto’s immediate thought is a _really_ good one he found the other day, involving a blonde-haired, petite little thing, with a cute little round belly. He’s being dominated by his alpha, and there’s… a lot going on. Typical bondage shit, with spreader bars and suspension, the omega’s cute little swollen nipples plucked and tied tightly, while he’s edged and fucked until he’s sobbing.

 

… that’s probably taking things _too_ far. Prompto’s fantasies are… a little excessive, and he absolutely doesn’t wanna scare Noctis off _too_ much.

 

“Well there’s some weird porn out there! I just wanna make sure it’s something you’re into!” Prompto insists, quickly. A little _too_ quickly.

 

Noctis laughs softly on the other end of the phone, but... there’s a roughness to his voice, a dark sort of lust creeping in that’s going straight to Prompto’s already-aching cock. “… you into the weird stuff, then, Prom?”

 

Prompto wants to sink down into the blankets and disappear. God, yes, he’s into the weird stuff. So much weirder than his best friend could imagine. He tugs his laptop a little closer, and resists the urge to start touching himself while Noctis talks about _porn,_ of all things. He needs to at least wait ‘til the video starts, so he has a fucking excuse.

 

“Stop pretending you’re totally innocent. You know what weird shit you find when you get into omega porn,” Prompto tries his best to sound indignant. He thinks he actually pulls it off, because he can fucking hear Noctis rolling his eyes.

 

“Just find some heat porn, Prom,” Noctis sighs, finally, a little irritable. “I don’t care if it’s weird, or whatever. I need to fucking get off, dude, before my dick falls off.”

 

“That’s a little extreme, Noct,” Prompto laughs, but god, he wishes he was there instead. He’d crawl back onto his hands and knees for Noctis, he’d lift his ass in the air, expose his slutty little ass for his best friend to rut into, to fuck open, to _fill…_

 

Prompto barely bites back the moan. God, his fantasies are intense. He doubles down, focuses his attention on his laptop screen, as he lazily clicks through the first page of search results. Everything looks… admittedly, boring. He supposes that happens, when you’re a teenage boy who watches a lot of gross porn. The vanilla stuff doesn’t quite do anything for him.

 

On the second page, though, he spots the cute blonde omega he likes. It’s a different video, and he doesn’t quite look so pregnant. That’s helpful. The video is very descriptively titled: ‘Slutty blonde in heat begs for thick alpha knot’ … which is the most generic title ever. It seems safe enough.

 

Prompto clicks on the video.

 

“Sending you a link,” he says, and he copies the link, pasting it over to Noct’s chat window in the program they use for online gaming.

 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Noctis breathes in sharply, as he clicks the link. “… you purposely sending me porn of omegas that look like you?” It’s meant to be a tease, but Prompto’s… not so sure, something about Noct’s _tone._

 

Really, the omega in the video doesn’t look _that_ much like him. No freckles. They’re a little shorter than Prompto himself is – even being an omega, he’s only an inch or two shorter than the prince himself – and their facial features aren’t that similar. But from behind, all lean, lanky limbs, and mop of stylish blonde hair… okay. There’s definitely some similarities.

 

“You’re the one who called _me_ while you’re rutting,” Prompto teases, and he’s pleased with how well he’s still keeping it together. “Think you’re projecting a little.”

 

“Shut up. Who else was I gonna call? _Ignis?”_

 

They both laugh, but Prompto’s already settling back on the bed. He’s shifting a little, adjusting the pillows behind him, so that he’s leaning back comfortably. The laptop’s set down next to him. One hand’s still holding the phone up to his ear, and the other is… drifting down, over his belly. The video, luckily, is pretty homemade, and so it doesn’t have any of the dumb, cheesy intros that a lot of professional porn does.

 

Means they’re getting right to the action.

 

There’s precome smeared over Prompto’s belly, from his leaking cock. He’s not sure what he’s more interested in--the video that’s starting, or the soft breathing that’s coming from his phone. He wonders, vaguely, if Noct’s doing the same thing he is, if he’s all sprawled in that big, fancy bed of his, the video playing on his laptop, a hand drifting down his toned belly, toward that thick alpha cock…

 

Prompto shudders. He’s biting back a moan, and he can’t help the way his hand drifts down, curling around his cock, giving it a good squeeze. His thumb swipes over the tip, spreading the precome, and god, as his thighs shift, he feels more slick wetting them. He’s a hot mess.

 

The omega in the video is on his knees, his face pressed into the blankets. The alpha’s behind him, and he hasn’t quite mounted him. He’s teasing, rubbing the thick head of his cock over the omega’s dripping hole. Prompto’s got the volume down fairly low – he wants to hear _Noctis,_ fuck – but he can still make out the sounds, the begging. _“Please… need your knot, give it to me, it_ hurts…”

 

“Do you think it’s really like that?” Noctis asks, idly, but Prompto doesn’t miss the way his breath hitches, or the slight lilt to the words. God, he wonders if Noct’s affected by this.

 

“W-what do you mean?” Prompto’s not quite so smooth. He’s got a hand wrapped around his cock, and he’s lazily stroking it. It’s easy to fall back into his head. He can imagine himself with his face pressed into Noct’s sheets instead, breathing in the scent of _alpha._ Noct’s thick cock would drag along the cleft of his ass, the head nudging his slick entrance, teasing him…

 

Noct’s voice would be the one asking him if he _needs_ that thick knot, to beg for it… fuck.

 

“Heat sex, Prom,” Noctis replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the omega, right? Like, can you see yourself actually getting that desperate?”

 

Prompto’s cheeks flush, as Noctis is _very_ obviously steering this conversation in his direction. His cock throbs, and he pulls his hand away, a thick strand of precome clinging stickily to his fingertips. The obvious answer is _yes,_ he’d get so fucking needy for Noctis, he’d beg for that thick cock to fuck him, to fill him, to breed him—

 

“I dunno, Noct. You’re acting like I’ve _done_ any of this,” Prompto confesses, with an embarrassed little laugh. He’d rather laugh than moan, though, because they’re hitting way too close to home here. “I’m a virgin, dude, you’d _know_ if I was fucking anyone.”

 

He leaves out the part where he doesn’t want to fuck anyone except Noctis. God, _never_ anyone except Noct, his prince, his alpha, and that’s the problem, isn’t it?

 

The sound Noctis makes is… Prompto doesn’t know how to interpret it, but it goes straight to his aching cock. It’s a bit derisive, maybe a bit smug, as if the prince is _happy_ that Prompto’s not fucking anyone. “Yeah, but, you’d know if you’d want it like that, right?” he asks, and Prompto swears, he hears Noct’s breath catch a little. He wonders if – _fuck –_ if Noctis is touching himself, while casually talking it through. God, how fucking hot would that look, Noct’s head tipped back, hips lifting as he fists that thick cock.

 

Prompto wonders how big Noct’s knot swells… god, a royal prince? It’s gotta be _big,_ those genes are hardwired to spread the royal seed… his thighs part, and this time, Prompto skips past his cock, sliding a hand down, along the slick cleft of his ass. His fingers tease his entrance, and he almost doesn’t remember to hold back the moan.

 

“My heats are bad, Noct. You know that,” Prompto admits, finally, after a moment’s silence. His fingers are stroking tiny little circles against the sensitive rim of his ass. His entrance is already a bit loose, yielding, opening up so nicely. He wishes it was Noctis pressing that alpha cock into him, instead of just his fingers.

 

“That your way of saying you’d be as desperate?” Noctis asks, and his voice is shaky. Prompto hears it, and fuck, he _swears_ he hears a faint wet, slick sound in the background. God, is that Noctis jerking himself off?

 

On the screen, the alpha’s finally balls deep into the omega. The poor little blonde omega is so _tiny,_ his ass split so wide around that cock, as he’s fucked deep and hard, mercilessly. He’s drooling into the sheets and crying out. The alpha’s leaning over him, a hand knotted in his hair, _tugging_ his head back sharply.

 

Prompto’s breath catches, and this time, a low, _needy_ sound does escape. His fingers push inside, spreading himself open. He can pretend it’s Noctis so easily. He wonders if Noct would pull his hair, if Noctis would leave angry, red bite marks all over his shoulders, at the nape of his neck. He wonders if Noctis would ever bite hard enough to _claim_ him, to bind them together—

 

“… a little desperate,” Prompto confesses, idly, so deep in his fantasy that he realizes he’s moaning again, as his fingers curl, brushing his prostate. The angle isn’t the best, and he can never fingerfuck himself properly anyway, but he’s so fucking turned on, it doesn’t matter. _Noctis_ is listening to him, a voice is screaming, but…

 

“Yeah?” Noct murmurs, and his voice, oh god, his voice has suddenly dropped an octave or two. He sounds… _interested,_ intent, focused on Prompto’s every fucking word. It’s hot as hell. “What’s it feel like, Prom?”

 

If Prompto didn’t have two fingers knuckle-deep in his wet ass, if his thighs weren’t slippery with his slick, or his cock so hard and aching on his belly, he’d probably deflect the conversation. He’d probably tease Noct about how he’s thinking with his dick again, how _he’s_ the one who’s rutting. God, he’d end this conversation.

 

But Prompto’s fingers twist against his prostate again, and Noct’s voice is fucking thick and sweet like molasses in his ear. Prompto _whines,_ and he can’t hold back the sound. Oh, it’d feel amazing, having Noct’s cock inside him, fucking him, filling him and turning him to absolute putty.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto manages to say, and it sounds an awful lot like he’s moaning his best friend’s name, instead of trying to half-heartedly protest. Fuck. He shudders, takes a deep breath – grinds his fingertips into his prostate again – and tries again. “… it feels… like I’m empty. Like I _need_ something inside of me, or else I’m gonna explode…”

 

Noct’s breath hitches, god, and Prompto _knows_ his best friend’s getting off on this. It’s so wrong, they’re pushing their friendship way too far. They’re both pretending to be watching the porn. The omega’s got such a nice, dazed, slack-jaw expression while his alpha dominates him, brutally fucks him into the mattress, but Prompto’s barely paying attention.

 

All he’s thinking about is Noct’s jerking himself off. He wonders how his best friend likes it. He wonders how _messy_ it’s gonna be when he comes, deep in his rut, that knot so _big._

 

“Yeah,” Noct’s agreeing, a bit mindlessly, “… know the feeling. Feels like I’m gonna _explode,_ Prom.”

 

 _Explode in me,_ Prompto’s mind is saying, or maybe he says it aloud, he doesn’t _know._ He shifts, nudging the phone up against his ear, propping it with his shoulder, so that his other hand is freed up. It slides down his belly – there’s so much precome wetting the lean lines of his abdomen – to curl around his cock, giving it a good, hard stroke. Prompto _moans,_ and he’s moaning right into the phone, and he doesn’t care.

 

“You gonna come, Prom?” Noctis asks – _so fucking shamelessly –_ and there’s… something in his voice. Something that Prompto’s lust-addled mind is interpreting as commanding, prince-like. It’s teasing and perfect, and oh, his thoughts spiral back, so suddenly, to being denied by his prince. It’d be so nice, wouldn’t it, to have Noctis dominate him?

 

Some part of Prompto, the part that isn’t absolutely overwhelmed with lust, is bratty, wants to push limits.

 

“… why? You gonna tell me I can’t, _highness?”_ Prompto breathes out, on a whim, and he’s pleased with how he manages to string the words together without sounding too much like a coherent mess. The truth is that Prompto’s close, that he can feel his orgasm beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. There’s fire streaking through his veins, and through it all, a soul-deep desire to _please_ Noctis, to let him know just how good he feels.

 

Noct’s been decently quiet until this moment, but as soon as Prompto speaks, his best friend’s _moaning_ into the phone. It’s low, a bit restrained, but it’s there, and Prompto hears it. His cock twitches and drools heavily on his belly, his ass clenches around his fingers, and he’s almost there, god, he’s going to come.

 

“Let me hear it,” Noctis says, suddenly, and those are the words that make the porn video playing in the background disappear _entirely_ from Prompto’s mind. Maybe he should at least pretend that he’s still watching the porn. Maybe he should imagine that he’s getting off on this alpha and omega on the screen.

 

But fuck, the way Noct’s _talking_ to him, the way those fingers almost feel like Noct’s cock, the way he’d boss Prompto around, make him into such a good, slutty omega—

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto gasps, and he’s working a third finger into his already stretched, overstimulated ass. His fingers are firm as they rub against his insides, as they curl and press into his prostate. His thighs tremble violently, his whole body jerks, he’s stroking his cock and swiping over the leaking head with every jerk. “… ‘m _gonna,_ want you to come with me, want to _feel_ it…”

 

Prompto’s lost, he’s babbling; he’s an incoherent mess, and he doesn’t even realize how close to the truth the words are. He wants to be filled, to be knocked up, to have Noctis be the one to do it. His best friend’s breath is heavy, on the other side of the line, and he’s making _sounds,_ ones that are only pulling Prompto deeper. They’re both lost in some sort of fantasy, clearly, or maybe Noct’s just watching the porn, but either way—

 

“Y-yeah,” Noctis groans, “with me, c’mon, Prom—”

 

That’s all it takes. All it fucking takes is a _command_ from his damn best friend, and Prompto’s coming. His orgasm slams him hard, makes him gasp and moan and sputter desperately. His whole body shakes, his hips arching up off the bed, body drawn taut and every muscle clenching as he comes, _hard._ There’s more slick dripping down his fingers, coating his hand, and there’s come spattering his belly, all the way up to his chest. Prompto’s fingers twist, he fucks himself through his release, jerks his cock until it’s milked dry, and god, he only _stops_ when the pleasure shifts from enjoyable to painful little tingles, to something on the wrong side of desperate, that just doesn’t feel right to indulge in _alone._

 

And god, Noct’s gasping and sputtering on the other side, too, _moaning_ his fucking release. Prompto’s whole body is _longing,_ screaming for more, even as his best friend slowly quiets down, as his breath, uneven and ragged, fills the empty void. The porn video is still playing, the sounds of muted moaning and desperate begging droning on in the background, and Prompto realizes – embarrassingly enough – that they got off ridiculously fast. The alpha and omega in the video are still going at it. Prompto’s cock gives a dirty little twitch as it softens against his belly, but… god. How can he ever go _back_ to just porn, now that he’s had Noctis encouraging him in his dirty little fantasies?

 

“… feel better?” Prompto asks, breaking the silence between them, and his tone is lighthearted, teasing. Fuck, he’s grateful for that, because all the confessions he’s been holding back are at the tip of his tongue. His inhibitions feel dangerously low, with the post-orgasm euphoria drifting through him.

 

Noctis makes a quiet, affirmative sound. “… fuck. Yeah, Prom. Thanks,” he laughs a little awkwardly, but already, somehow, the atmosphere around them is shifting. Prompto… admittedly, he’s terrified of making things weird, but already, in the soft afterglow, it feels _right._ It feels… nice. Better than it should.

 

“Sorry,” Noctis adds, a bit lamely, “… the rut. It’s really bad this time, I… couldn’t do it alone.”

 

Prompto’s heart is leaping into his chest, and he’s doing his best to bite back all the words he wants to say. Noctis doesn’t _have_ to be alone. His best friend doesn’t have to ride it out by himself, because Prompto’s right here. He’ll stay at Noct’s side, his best friend can use him, rut into him, fill him up… he doesn’t care if it’s just the hormones talking, or if it can’t extend past that. Prompto’s just gotten his first taste of _Noct,_ and if he was addicted before, now he’s absolutely hopelessly _gone._ There’s a softness to it he hadn’t expected, and he gets the distinct feeling that if he was there, in Noct’s bed, his best friend’s arm would slot around his waist, he’d be tugged to settle warm and heavy against the alpha’s chest, and they’d nap together, sticky and messy, covered in come and slick…

 

“I get it,” Prompto says, softly. “My heats are bad too, Noct. It… sucks, doing it alone.”

 

Noctis sighs, letting out a breath that Prompto hadn’t even known his best friend was holding. “Being alone sucks,” he agrees. “… ‘m tired, but… stay on the line with me? Til I fall asleep?”

 

As if that’s a question. Prompto leans forward to slam his laptop shut – the porn video is almost over now, but god, he’s got no interest in that whatsoever – and then settles back against his best. His sheets are messy. The air is thick with omega pheromones and the scent of slick. As Prompto adjusts in the bed, he realizes Noct’s discarded shirt is balled up and off to the side, forgotten in favour of his best friend’s voice. His fingers tremble, and he only hesitates a moment before he pulls it to his face, breathing in that amazing, musky alpha scent.

 

“I’m here, Noct. Not going anywhere,” Prompto murmurs. Oh, if only Noctis knew how _true_ that is.

 

In the morning, when Prompto wakes up, his phone is outright dead, drained of battery from the phone call they’d both fallen asleep to. Despite his nerves – god, what will Noctis _say? –_ he’s… so goddamn content. Easily, that was the best jerkoff session of Prompto’s life.

 

Noctis misses school because of his rut, and Prompto hadn’t had a chance to charge his phone before school. He comes home to a bunch of text messages, but if Noct wants to suggest a second jerkoff session together, he’s not willing to confess it, and Prompto doesn’t bring it up, as much as he fucking wants to.

 

Should he mention it? Should he suggest it? How does he even _bring_ that up? A casual text? _‘hey, how’s the rut going? If it’s too bad, you can call me again’?_ Is that casual enough? Prompto sighs, and instead of initiating any of that, he texts Noctis and asks if he’s feeling up to playing a video game.

 

So, instead of facing their feelings, they stay up until two in the morning playing an MMO together. Prompto nearly falls asleep with his face on the keyboard, and when Noct’s back in school the following day – his rut cycle under control, though Prompto can definitely smell the alpha hormones, and it’s got his blood surging, neurons rapid-firing in his brain, and a little bit of dampness between his legs – he doesn’t mention anything.

 

Prompto doesn’t bring it up either, though his mind keeps cycling back, and he keeps wondering, _just_ how much did he confess to his best friend? How much does Noctis remember? And even if they’re not saying anything about it… he swears, there’s a look in Noct’s eye.

 

“You daydreaming about me?” Noctis teases, interrupting Prompto, knocking him hard out of his thoughts at lunch. Prompto flushes, the redness spreading from his freckled cheeks all the way down the collar of his school uniform. He picks viciously at his lunch – a salad, one that Noctis had scoffed at, as usual – and shakes his head.

 

“Things aren’t… weird between us, Noct, are they?” Prompto asks, finally, and he musters up the courage to lift his eyes, to lock onto Noct’s. His best friend looks thoughtful for a split second, maybe mildly embarrassed, and then he shakes his head, leaning across the table to playfully nudge at Prompto’s shoulder. That little bit of contact is electricity, has a jolt of sparks under Prompto’s skin. God, how does that have such an _effect_ on him?

 

“You _really_ want to talk about that?” Noctis asks, softly, though, and he lowers his voice, glancing around conspicuously, as if there’s someone listening in. There isn’t anyone. They’re in an empty classroom, eating lunch together, because the two of them are attached at the hip. Everyone else likes to leave campus for lunch, so naturally, the two of them like to seek refuge, away from the world, locked in their own little place. It’s… nice.

 

Prompto flushes deeper, if that’s even damn possible. “… just making sure,” he says, carefully. “I’m not sure… that’s what best friends do, Noct. Is it?”

 

Noctis shrugs, biting his lip. “Dunno. You’re the only friend I”ve ever had.” His expression shifts, though, brow furrowing, a flicker of concern spreading across those fucking gorgeous lips, the ones Prompto wants to throw himself at, to kiss desperately. “I didn’t mess things up, did I?”

 

“No,” Prompto replies, immediately, maybe _too_ fast. He’s totally giving himself away. “… just. Didn’t know if you wanna pretend it didn’t happen.”

 

Noctis shrugs again, but his expression, immediately, begins to soften again. Prompto’s obsessed with his best friend. He fantasizes about him nonstop, he wants to be knotted, to be filled and claimed. He wants a royal heir in him – his fingers itch to run over his belly again, even here, in the middle of the day, so removed from sexual fantasy – but… it goes beyond that. God, he wants to _be_ with Noctis. He wants to dedicate his life, to be at his side, in whatever capacity he can be.

 

“If you want help,” Noctis says suddenly, “… y’know. When it’s _your_ turn to deal with this shit. I’m here, Prom.”

 

Prompto flushes brightly, and he immediately looks away. Under the table, the toe of Noct’s shoe nudges into his shin, and even that simple little touch is enough to send his mind racing, spiraling. What is Noctis even _offering?_ Does his best friend know what he’s doing to him? He can’t – there’s no way Noctis knows just how bad it is – but Prompto finds himself nodding mutely.

 

“… I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Noct,” Prompto says, softly. He _shouldn’t,_ Ignis’s words are rushing through his mind, they can’t do this again. He’s too deep, he’s going to get hurt, but Noct’s offering and—

 

Prompto doesn’t even stop to think about what that offer even _means._ All he knows is that he wants it, and desperately, and how is he ever coming back from this?

 

“Just gotta promise to call me _highness,”_ Noctis adds, so fucking casually, Prompto damn near does a double-take. Then, his mind catches up on what his stupid best friend just said, and he sputters, outright choking on the forkful of lettuce he’d been chomping down on.

 

“Noctis!” Prompto groans, burying his face in his hand, embarrassment – and okay, maybe a little streak of arousal – taking over, rushing through him. “God, you’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?”

 

“Nope,” Noctis agrees, with a lazy smirk, and okay. Maybe things are fine between them. Maybe everything really is back to normal. Prompto can live with normal. This is fine, he’ll quietly keep jerking off, and maybe, just maybe, they’ll do the phone thing again, when things get bad. It’ll be enough, because it has to be.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so for everyone hoping this isn't a slow burn. this might be a slow burn. or they might jump each other and fuck mindlessly within a chapter or two. I DONT EVEN KNOW ANYMORE. honestly, i suck at outlining and this fic went from being 2-3 parts to 5-6 to probably like 300 chapters long because i'm a whore for self-indulgent, gross mpreg lmfao. 
> 
> anyway, i'm on twitter @thatdest. please come scream at me, i thrive on feedback, comments, kudos, etc, pls keep inspiring this nasty mess of porn. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s so easy to imagine that he really does live here. Prompto spends so much time here, Noct’s apartment is practically his. If he closes his eyes – and his eyes are fluttering closed, already, the cool contrast of the tile against his back and the steamy water against his front feeling that much better when he can’t see – he can imagine it. They’d be in the middle of setting up the spare room as a nursery, maybe. Chocobo-themed. Babies clothes scattered around, but of course, Noctis loves running his hands over Prompto’s round belly, loves possessively whispering in his ear that he’s the one who put a baby in him…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here for another round of prompto jerking it!

Prompto tells himself he can be normal, and he _almost_ believes it. Hell, he almost pulls it off. He makes it through a couple of days without any intrusive thoughts kicking his ass, though maybe that’s just because he’s been jerking off so much lately, he’s going to wear his dick out if he keeps it up.

 

Maybe, he tells himself, he’d just needed to get it out of his system. Now that he and Noctis did that… thing, on the phone (he refuses to call it phone sex, because that’s just _weird),_ Prompto can finally move on. He can crush on someone who’s actually attainable. Of course, he knows he isn’t gonna crush on anyone he can actually have, because someone already owns his heart and soul. He’s _Noct’s,_ and that’s the heart of the problem.

 

“You wanna come over after school?” Noctis asks, lazily, during an afternoon study period. Prompto, admittedly, is a bit swamped with homework. Noctis is, too, but the crown prince is _smart,_ even if he’s a bit of a lazy asshole. He’s always been the better of the two of them at schoolwork.

 

Prompto doesn’t know why Noctis asks. They both know he’s going to agree.

 

“It’s a school night,” he tries to point out, the futility in his voice quite evident. “… you know if I go over, we’ll stay up late, and then I gotta take the train home…”

 

“So stay the night,” Noctis shrugs. “My place is closer to the school anyway.”

 

Prompto chews on the end of his pen thoughtfully. He’s got a bit of an oral fixation, truth be told, and… god, he’s been doing such a good job at avoiding all those damn thoughts that whisk him off to gross fantasyland. Noct’s just finished his rut a few days ago, though, and Prompto only hopes that someone came in and cleaned the place. Otherwise, it’s going to smell like _alpha_. Noct already smells so good, and Prompto… fuck, he shudders at the thought of being all wrapped up in Noct’s blankets.

 

Damnit. He was doing _so_ well.

 

“Okay,” Prompto agrees, anyway, because _of course_ he does. “Yeah. Cool, dude.”

 

“Cool,” Noctis reiterates, and for a split second, Prompto really does wonder if things between them have gotten slightly weird. Then, Noct shrugs and goes back to working on his math homework, and Prompto tugs the slightly-chewed pen from his lips and goes back to skimming the textbook he’s reading.

 

Of course, his mind isn’t entirely there. It’s drifting again, and god, he’s thinking about Noct’s voice, panting in his ear, that _moan_ he’d heard on the phone, imagining his best friend’s cock rutting against the swell of his ass as he teases him…

 

Prompto has to sink deeper in his chair, because the tell-tale signs of arousal are coursing through him. Fuck. He needs to get it together. He’d lasted a couple of days—he can last more, right? Of course, he knows, by the time he’s done at Noct’s place, he’s going to need to dive in his bed and work a couple off… but, seeing Noctis is more important. It always is.

 

\---

 

By the time study period ends, and school’s done for the day, Prompto’s thoughts are back in _safe_ territory, thank fucking god. They grab food on the way home, and settle in at Noct’s apartment for a lazy night in.

 

Prompto’s thanking all his fucking lucky stars that the housekeeping service Ignis had given in and hired for Noctis had stopped by. He loves Noctis – oh god, he _loves_ Noctis – but Prompto knows better than to trust his best friend’s ability to tidy his place up, even after a damn rut. He’s also got a decent case of second-hand embarrassment at the idea of _Ignis_ doing it.

 

Honestly, Prompto doesn’t want to think about Noct’s advisor at all. He can still hear that conversation they’d had in the car. And, okay, potential weirdness aside, there is _definitely_ residual guilt in knowing that he had, immediately, gone and ignored everything Ignis has told him. He knows that they shouldn’t have, that Noctis is a _prince,_ that even if they didn’t explicitly cross any lines…

 

Either way. The laundry is done. Noct’s bed is freshly made. Prompto drops his backpack off in Noct’s room and they flop out on the couch together to watch a movie and eat dinner.

 

Sometimes, Prompto’s pretty sure he’s cursed.

 

They’re barely ten minutes into the movie when Ignis shows up. Prompto’s got his head on Noct’s shoulder – his best friend is so _warm_ and reassuring, and he smells so fucking good – and when he hears the click of the lock, he lifts his head, scoots to the side, putting a couple of inches between them.

 

Noctis outright groans. “Fuck.”

 

“Hello, Noct,” Ignis says, as he enters the apartment. Prompto twists in his seat and peeks his head over the edge of the couch, offering what he _hopes_ is an innocent smile and not a totally guilty one. “… ah, Prompto. It’s a school night.”

 

It’s impossible to _not_ feel vaguely guilty when Ignis is involved, of course. “Hi Iggy! I’m spending the night,” Prompto offers, and he hopes that twisting in his gut isn’t giving him away.

 

Ignis sighs. “Of course you are. _Noct,_ you’re needed at the citadel.”

 

“It’s a school night,” Noctis shoots back smugly, a lazy little smirk tugging at his lips. Of course, he’s already leaning forward, putting his food on the coffee table – the back of his shirt riding up just a _little_ as he does, exposing a nice stripe of skin that Prompto’s eyes gravitate toward – and Prompto has a feeling that their damn night is about to be totally interrupted. Ignis should _really_ just be a certified cockblock, at this point.

 

“It won’t take long,” Ignis reassures, in a clipped voice, and maybe it’s Prompto’s imagination, but he _swears,_ Noct’s advisor is giving him the most scrutinizing look. As if he _knows._ “Perhaps an hour? I’m sure Prompto doesn’t mind waiting for your return.”

 

The tone leaves no room for complaint. Prompto sighs, and he’s reminded, once again, of just _where_ he belongs in Noct’s life. He’s always tucked away, at his best friend’s side, but duty will always come first, won’t it? And there’s no place for him at the citadel… it’s all such a distant, far-off fantasy, dreams of being a proper Consort, of carrying Noct’s babies, creating a royal heir that will grow up to rule some day…

 

“You’re not gonna leave, are you?” Noctis grumbles.

 

“Absolutely not,” Ignis replies, mildly enough, though there’s a wicked gleam in his eye. “Come, Noct.”

 

Prompto’s stomach does a little lurch as his best friend untangles from the warm mess of blankets. Noctis looks thoroughly exhausted, his eyes dull and his hair mussed. His school uniform is disheveled, the top button of his dress shirt undone, revealing the nicest little tantalizing peak of collarbone. Prompto very pointedly averts his eyes, staring down at the blankets, smoothing out a few wrinkles.

 

“You don’t mind, Prom?” Noctis asks, quietly, even though they both know there’s no point in getting upset over it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, dude. You… know how it is.”

 

Prompto knows. It’s not that he even really _minds_ Noctis being dragged off so much as the implication of it all, the what-ifs that very clearly can never exist. “I think I’ll be fine in your big fancy apartment all alone, Noct,” he teases, and he’s pleased with how lighthearted and easy the words sound. “You’re the one getting the shit end of the deal, here.”

 

“I’ll text,” Noctis says, as he tugs his shoes on. Prompto watches over his shoulder, and then there’s a resolute click of the door shutting behind them, and he’s _alone_ in his best friend’s apartment.

 

Prompto’s intentions are pure. They really are. It’s just… he doesn’t wanna finish anything without Noct. There’s no point in putting the movie back on if Noctis isn’t here to enjoy it. Any TV shows he’s interested in, they watch together. Sure, Prompto could’ve put on a video game and played a couple of rounds, but… he’s just not in the mood for that.

 

Inevitably, he’s too restless to sit on the couch and wait patiently for Noct’s arrival. His fingers are itching to text, but Prompto _really_ doesn’t wanna be that guy checking in on his best friend every five seconds, especially when Noct’s at the citadel. Maybe he’s meeting with his dad. If that’s the case, Prompto _definitely_ knows not to push. Noctis can be… closed off, even now, at times.

 

So, Prompto settles with climbing off the couch. He rummages through the fridge for something to snack on, but Noct doesn’t have much. He rinses off some dirty dishes in the sink, because his best friend is messy, and realistically, Prompto’s here so much that he probably should start doing some chores.

 

He wanders the hallway, and ends up in Noct’s room, and Prompto doesn’t even fully intend to.

 

He’s wondering what it’s like, being up in the citadel all the time. Noct’s taken him up there a couple of times, but Prompto gets the distinct impression that he doesn’t belong, that he’d never fit in. As lazy as his best friend acts, Noct’s _royalty,_ and he carries himself with a certain air of sophistication that Prompto could never replicate. Noctis owns nice clothes – even if he hates wearing them – and he’s got all the telltale characteristics of Lucian royalty. Delicate features, gorgeous, deep blue eyes, all underlined by that hint of _strength,_ the electric, tangible crackle of magic that runs in his blood.

 

Prompto sighs. Sometimes it’s so _easy_ to pretend, but when it comes down to it? He’s a nobody omega. He really needs to stop playing these mind games with himself.

 

He doesn’t even necessarily _mean_ to make himself comfortable in Noct’s bed, either. It’s just… a magnetic drive, something pulling him here. As Prompto seats himself down on the edge of Noct’s bed, something inside him twists. His heart thumps, and his breath catches, just a _little,_ because…. Fuck, it smells _good._

 

Prompto sleeps in Noct’s bed all the time, but there’s something oddly intimate about being here alone, _uninvited._ Knowing that just a few days ago, Noctis was riding out a rut here, alone, too… it does something to him. Fuck, he’s hopeless, he’s _insatiable,_ and Prompto sighs as he flops back, quite suddenly, reaching for a pillow and pulling it over his face.

 

The thick scent of _alpha_ surges through him, and Prompto groans shamelessly, feeling his cock start to twitch, pressing heavily against the seam of his pants. If he’s not careful, he’s going to get his pants wet, and god… what a sight, if Noctis walked back in on him, all desperate and needy.

 

His fingers twitch, and Prompto digs them into the pillow deeper, to keep from touching himself.

 

He wonders what it’d be like, to _really_ live here. If he shared Noct’s bed, he’d be able to touch himself, all wrapped up in his alpha’s scent, limbs tangled in the blankets. He’d be shameless about it, if he _belonged_ here. Maybe Noctis would keep a toy tucked into the bedside drawer for him, for moments like these, when the need’s surging through Prompto like a tidal wave, and his best friend isn’t around to help.

 

Or, fuck, maybe Noctis wouldn’t. Maybe he’d tell Prompto to wait it out. Fuck, that’d be hot, Noct coming back from the citadel to walk in on his omega, needy and dripping for him, panting and arching off the bed and _waiting…_

Prompto swears, he can almost feel Noct’s eyes on him. He bites down on his lower lip, worries it hard between the tight clench of his teeth. The little burst of pain somehow just _adds_ to the fantasy. God, he’s in his best friend’s _bed,_ fantasizing about him, and… there’s guilt, there’s so many conflicting feelings. But it’s not hurting anyone, Noctis will never know, right?

 

He wishes, more than anything, that he could put on a show for Noct’s return. His best friend would lean against the door frame, eyes greedily dragging over his form, and Prompto can practically hear the tease. ‘You were _that_ desperate, Prom? Couldn’t wait for me?’

 

He’d spread his legs in response. Fuck, Prompto’s whole body trembles. He’s getting wet, the slick gathering between his thighs. His cock’s starting to press against the front of his pants. Every time Prompto delves into these fantasies, he learns a few new things about himself. Right now, he’s getting off purely on the imagined sensation of Noct’s eyes, searing into him. The prince would look so dominant, so possessive, eyes intent, honed on the omega in his bed. Maybe he’d palm a hand down over the front of his pants, betraying his own interest…

 

“Am I good for you, highness?” Prompto breathes out, the words muffled into the pillows. It’d be so _easy_ to slip his hand down, to work it into his pants, to curl his fingers around his cock and jerk off. It’d be easy, too, to shimmy out of his pants and work a few fingers in, to pretend that it’s Noct’s fingers. Or, fuck, maybe Noctis would tell him to get himself off for his prince. Maybe Noct would want to be lazy.

 

Prompto likes _that_ idea. He’s young, he’s capable of going more than once. Maybe Noctis would wait until he comes, until he’s trembling, shivering and overstimulated, before he’d approach. Then, he’d tug Prompto’s legs up around his waist and fuck him with that thick alpha cock, drawing out orgasm after orgasm from the omega’s exhausted, overstimulated body…

 

“Noct…” Prompto moans, a little desperate. He pulls the pillow closer to his face, breathing in that fucking _scent._ God, he’s worked up, he’s so damn horny, but—that’s too far. He can’t jerk off in Noct’s bedroom. If Noctis ever found out, he’d be disgusted.

 

Prompto doesn’t have to make that decision, anyway. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and that snaps him out of his fantasy. Lowering the pillow – god, the scent lingers, though – Prompto tugs his phone out of his pocket and swipes it open.

 

Naturally, it’s Noctis.

 

Noct: whatcha doin prom?  
Prompto: nothing. waiting for you to finish the movie  
Noct: sounds almost as boring as being stuck up in the citadel lmao  
Prompto: what u doing up there anyway?  
Noct: getting lectured by dad. Ignis is a fucking tool.  
Prompto: lmao man hes not that bad  
Noct: after today i may murder him  
Prompto: good luck starving to death, i am not taking over meal duty

 

Prompto laughs, and rolls his eyes, though he’s mildly curious by the exchange. Noctis doesn’t talk about things with his dad that much. Prompto knows their relationship is a bit strained, and that’s inevitably, given Regis was a king in shittier times, and life in Lucis wasn’t always so easy. There’d been threats of war, and even though Prompto had been younger, he still remembers distinct echoes of fear.

 

That’s enough to snap him fully out of the horrible descent of fantasy at least. His pants are still a little uncomfortable from that first wash of slick, but at least his cock’s softened again. Prompto’s pretty sure he has extra clothes at Noct’s, anyway… he’s here enough.

 

His phone buzzes again.

 

Noct: thought u were devoted to me prom. you wouldn’t be my live in maid?  
Noct: we could get u a costume and everything….

 

 _Oh._ Well, so much for Prompto being done with his fantasies. His heart leaps, his belly twisting almost _violently_ with the sudden, desperate surge of _want._ God, Noctis is just teasing, but Prompto _is_ devoted to him. He’s devoted to the prince with his whole being, and he wishes, fuck, he wants to tell Noctis just how true this is.

 

His fingers are itching to respond. Prompto wants to confess everything, even though he knows it’ll ruin him. And god, his dirty mind is at work here, too. A maid costume—thigh-high stockings, a short, ruffled skirt with a frilly little apron that leaves his chest mostly bare, showing off the faintest swell of his chest. Panties, soft and lacy, that do nothing to hide how the tip of his hard cock peeks out over the band, that show the damp spot where he’s wet and ready and open…

 

Prompto _whines._

 

“Noctis, this isn’t fair!” he groans.

 

Prompto: ur deluded. Im so not cooking meals for ur picky ass.  
Prompto: or cleaning up after u….  
Noct: but what about the costume? lol  
Prompto: shut up noctis

 

Prompto tosses his phone to the side. He doesn’t _understand_ Noctis, and he knows that it’s just dumb teasing from a ridiculously bored prince. Noctis is probably in one of those giant conference rooms, seated at a table with his dad, hiding his phone under the table and looking down, sneaking peaks and indulging himself with stupid banter with his best friend. It doesn’t _mean_ anything to Noctis.

 

But Prompto can feel the slick gathering between his legs. He can’t get the mental image out of his head now, of Noctis bending him over the kitchen counter, flipping his skirt up, bunching it around his waist and… god. Maybe he’d get on his knees. Noctis would tug Prompto’s panties to the side, revealing his wet hole, and he’d lean in, tongue dragging along the cleft of his ass, delving in, _tasting…_

 

“Fuck this,” Prompto whines. “I’m taking a shower.”

 

It’s _perfectly_ normal to take a shower after a long day at school, right? And it’s not like he’s going to make a mess. The water will wash all the evidence – and the _scent_ of omega – away. It’s a victimless crime. Prompto feels better, knowing that he’s not about to ruin the sanctity of his best friend’s bed, or whatever. He’s mostly gotten over the guilt of _jerking off_ to Noctis, even if there’s a bit of lingering… weirdness.

 

Well, a lot of lingering weirdness, honestly.

 

Prompto slides off the bed and shuffles into the bathroom. His clothes come off quickly enough, falling into a pile on the tile as he gets the shower running. Like everything else in Noct’s life, his bathroom is large and luxurious. It’d probably also be disgusting, if Noctis was in charge of cleaning it himself, but luckily, the cleaning company comes in to do it. (Ignis refuses to touch it, and Prompto doesn’t blame him.)

 

It’s kinda Prompto’s fault, too, if he’s being honest. He’s here enough that his shampoo and some cosmetics have made it permanently in here. It feels… like home. That’s a dangerous line of thinking, of course, but he can’t help himself. It’s so nice to dive into the fantasy again.

 

The water steaming around him as he steps into the shower, Prompto leans back against the wall. His hand’s already drifting, fingers ghosting down his belly, curling around his mostly-hard cock, giving a long, slow jerk. His fingers twist, thumb swiping over the sensitive head, and Prompto’s damn well aware of the needy sound escaping his throat. He sounds desperate, more than a little pathetic.

 

God, Prompto _needs_ Noctis. He needs him more than anything, and he’s so worked up over nothing. There’s another pulse of slick, and he can feel it running down his thighs, hot and sticky. Nobody should want their best friend this badly, but…

 

It’s so easy to imagine that he really _does_ live here. Prompto spends so much time here, Noct’s apartment is practically his. If he closes his eyes – and his eyes are fluttering closed, already, the cool contrast of the tile against his back and the steamy water against his front feeling that much better when he can’t see – he can imagine it. They’d be in the middle of setting up the spare room as a nursery, maybe. Chocobo-themed. Babies clothes scattered around, but of course, Noctis loves running his hands over Prompto’s round belly, loves possessively whispering in his ear that _he’s_ the one who put a baby in him…

 

Fuck, Prompto knows it’s weird, but his fingers tighten, and he keeps touching himself. It doesn’t take long—a couple of minutes of frantic stroking, of fingers teasing the head of his cock, nail dipping into the slit and spreading precome around. Prompto’s free hand snakes back, teases his entrance, and god, he’s imagining _Noctis_ here with him. The prince, kneeling before him, lips closed around his cock, a hand splayed always, so possessive, over his belly, over their baby—

 

Prompto comes _hard,_ and he bites down on his lip and does his best to muffle the desperate, frantic sound that’s trying to erupt from his throat. His thighs are so wet with slick as he shifts, and he makes a mess all over his fingers, over his belly, come dripping down and mingling with the water, slowly disappearing down the drain.

 

“… fuck…” Prompto sighs, slowly sinking to the floor of the shower. He just keeps getting himself deeper. At some point, it’s going to be too much, and he needs to accept what he _knows:_ none of this is ever happening. It’s stupid fantasy. But… god, he loves embracing the fantasy. Prompto would give himself over to his prince, this alpha that he wishes, more than anything, was his.

 

He gives it a few minutes, slumped boneless and spent on the shower floor, before Prompto pulls himself to his feet. He washes his hair and scrubs his skin thoroughly clean, wiping all the remnants of slick away. Its only when he’s satisfied he won’t smell like a horny omega anymore, that he turns the water off. The last thing Prompto needs is for Noctis to know just what he’s been up to, when his best friend’s trusted him alone in his apartment.

 

It’s not hard to find clothes that belong to him, either. Ignis has dedicated a section of one of Noct’s drawers to clothes that Prompto’s managed to leave behind, over the past couple of years. He slides on a soft, faded tank top and a pair of loose sweats, and Prompto’s innocently curled up on the couch again, idly browsing social media on his phone, when the front door _finally_ opens.

 

It hasn’t been that long—an hour or two? Prompto’s not really sure. When he falls into fantasy, time loses all meaning.

 

“Hey, Noct,” Prompto glances up from his phone, and he can practically _see_ the waves of agitation rolling off Noctis. The prince is in a mood, that much is obvious. Prompto’s familiar with Noct’s moods, and he’s well aware that he just needs to provide a distraction and let Noctis deal with it on his own.

 

(Inwardly, he’s pretty sure a good, rough fuck would probably help but… god, Prompto is _not_ going there, and he’s not succumbing to fantasy again. Nope. He worked that out of his system. Not happening.)

 

“Fuck Ignis,” Noctis grumbles, as he kicks his shoes off and saunters over to the couch. He collapses into a boneless mess, an arm lifting to drape over his face, as he stifles a yawn. “He’s _supposed_ to have my back.”

 

Prompto is curious. He doesn’t wanna push, but he’s shifting a little, leaning forward on the couch, head tipped to the side as he regards his best friend. “What happened?” he asks, and follows up quickly, “you don’t have to tell me! But—if you wanna talk.”

 

Noctis makes a derisive sound in the back of his throat. He doesn’t look at Prompto. “…. Ignis mentioned to dad that I… had you over.” The words come out quiet, thoughtful and hesitant, as if he’s very carefully picking what he wants to say. “It’s stupid.”

 

Prompto feels his stomach lurch. He’s not good at sitting still, and suddenly he’s fidgeting, fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket he’s got draped over his lap. “… am I like, exiled?” he asks. It’s stupid. Realistically, they didn’t _do_ anything, though he knows Ignis had given him that same lecture in the car. Even though maybe, if he’d stayed, Noct would’ve used him through his rut. Anything Prompto wishes they were doing is very one-sided, though, outside of that hormonal haze.

 

“What? No?” Noctis sits up a little, and he finally looks at Prompto. “Why would you be exiled for being my best friend? Nothing happened.”

 

Nothing… except for, of course, the whole not-phone-sex thing, Prompto’s mind is saying, filling in the blanks, but he doesn’t verbalize that. Instead, he’s nodding a little dumbly. “So what happened? With your dad?”

 

Noctis sighs. “I got the whole… royal duty talk. You know, the usual bullshit. When it’s _time,_ the council’s gonna vote on a suitable partner, blah blah blah….” He grumbles. “Dad wanted to reassure me that I’m not gonna get stuck with some political marriage, since things aren’t so bad, but… it’s obvious I’m _going_ to. It’s bullshit, Prompto. We’re still in fucking _high school,_ why am I getting this lecture now?”

 

Prompto shrugs, and he does his best to pretend that he’s not feeling a strange surge of anxiety at the prospect of his best friend being married off to someone. Noctis… having babies with someone else. Noctis _belonging_ to someone else.

 

“Like you’ve ever listened to anything the council says,” Prompto points out, with what he _hopes_ is a playful smile. “Noct, fuck ‘em. When you’re old enough, just… marry who you want to. You’re an alpha, just claim ‘em and what is the council gonna do? Easier to agree than to try and cover up a scandal, right?”

 

Noctis stares at him for a long moment. For just a brief instant, Prompto thinks, maybe, they’re on the verge of _something._ Then, his shoulders relax a little, some of the tension ebbing away.

 

“… I guess you’re right,” Noctis laughs, and he has the grace to at least sound a bit rueful. “They can’t really stop me, huh?”

 

“Yep,” Prompto agrees, “and besides. Like you said, we’re in high school, dude. You’ve got time to figure it out.”

 

Prompto settles back against the couch again, and he’s about to reach for the television remote to get the movie starting up again, but suddenly – Noctis is shifting, next to him. He’s leaning in, his fingers curling around Prompto’s wrist.

 

“Prom?” Noctis asks, softly, and Prompto’s heart leaps up into his chest in response. That little touch is electric, energy jolting through his whole body, and fuck, somehow that touch means _everything._

 

“Noct?” he hopes his voice is steady, that it’s not betraying the surge of emotion that he’s suddenly feeling. Prompto takes a deep breath, tries to relax, and tips his head to meet Noct’s gaze. “What?”

 

“… that thing you said,” Nocitis says, slowly. “I mean. If I _have_ to marry someone, and the council is trying to force it… you’re an omega, right?”

 

Prompto’s heart leaps into his chest, and god, he _knows_ Noctis is just upset. His best friend sucks at making decisions when he’s all riled up with emotion, _especially_ when his father is involved. And—Prompto knows Noctis hates being a prince, most of the time. The words don’t mean anything, but fuck, he wants them to. The knot twisting in his belly now isn’t arousal. It’s something worse, something far more dangerous, a flare of heat that’s searing through his gut, bursting in his chest and exploding like butterflies. More than anything, Prompto wants to throw himself in his best friend’s arms, to scream ‘yes’ over and over again, to tell Noctis that he’s devoted. That he’s _his._

“Sure am an omega, last time I checked,” Prompto teases, instead, keeping his voice as light as he can, as… neutral. He doesn’t want to scare Noctis away. “And your best friend. I’d… do that for you, Noct, if you ever asked me.”

 

Noctis nods, slowly, and his eyes drift away, like it’s too hard to keep that burning point of contact. “Yeah. Okay. Cool. You wanna finish the movie?”

 

Prompto wants a lot of things, but right now, finishing the movie seems like a good idea. Otherwise, if he dwells on these feelings for too long, he might combust; he might burst into flames and wither away. Or, worse, he might make some awful confession that they can’t come back from. And, more than anything, he’s devoted to being at Noct’s side, however he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the... slow-burn is real. are you ready to scream at these idiots to just fuck already, like i am?  
> i added maid pupu cuz who doesn't want prompto to get railed in a maid costume?  
> anyway, this fic has been my shining light in a week at work that has been insane. so thank you everyone for your constant feedback, the comments honestly make me smile so much. <3 i'm on twitter @thatdest as well, pls scream with me~


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you think it feels like?” Noctis asks quietly, interrupting Prompto’s fantasy. 
> 
> “What?” Prompto manages, swallowing down what feels like a heavy lump in his throat. “The sex? Or the pregnant part?” 
> 
> Noctis shrugs a little, and he’s so noncommittal, even though in his peripheral, Prompto can see his hand toying with the band of his boxers, slipping down and then palming over his half-hard cock. “Dunno. Both?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late. i rewrote this chapter a few times before deciding i was happy with it lmfao. and then i was on vacation with my gross friends.

Prompto’s been doing his damn best to be careful. He’s got one hell of a secret, after all. His descent from total crush on his best friend to ‘hopelessly, madly in love and wanna have Noct’s babies’ has been a steady spiral, and he knows it’s ridiculous.

 

He’d definitely pushed the limits, jerking off in his best friend’s shower. Noct could’ve come home early – even though he’d been stuck up at the citadel and that never happens – or Prompto could’ve forgotten to gather up his slick-wet clothing. He’d bunched it up and thrown it into the laundry, though. He’s clean and refreshed, and the evidence is watched away.

 

Still, Noct is a little restless as they watch the movie. Normally, Prompto’s the antsy one who can never quite sit still. Instead, his best friend is shifting a little uncomfortably through it all. He keeps _looking_ at Prompto, and even though he’d sated his desires earlier, Prompto’s cheeks keep flushing and a little thrum of _arousal_ pulses through him.

 

God, is his heat coming up? Is that it? Prompto tries to the mental math and he doesn’t _think_ it is, but he’s been around Noct while he was rutting and he’s read that can influence cycles… so _maybe?_

The movie ends, and Noctis yawns. “ ‘m tired. Bed?”

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, though he’s got a bad feeling about all of this, a steadily building rise of panic that he can’t quite hide all of this for much longer.

 

It’s even worse, when they wander back down the hallway to Noct’s room. His best friend’s tugging at his shirt to change into something more comfortable – Prompto pointedly avoiding his eyes – but Noctis frowns when he sits down on the bed.

 

“Were you in my bed?”

 

Shit. Prompto had—he’d forgotten that part, where he’d pretty much rolled around in Noct’s sheets, covering himself in that clinging, musky alpha scent. He should’ve realized, and—a deep breath and yeah, the room smells like horny omega, just as much as it smells like Noctis. He should’ve opened a window, should’ve changed the sheets, _something…_

 

“Uh,” Prompto says quickly. There’s plenty of explanations: his heat might be coming up. He took a nap in Noct’s bed while his best friend was gone. Coincidence? Instead, naturally, panic kicks in, and with that, fight or flight—

 

“You know, Noct,” Prompto says quickly, “I should probably go, dude.”

 

It’s one of his stupider choices but the alternatives are suddenly racing through Prompto’s mind, and each is worse than the last. Noctis will _hate_ him. Noct won’t want to be his friend anymore. Noctis will think he’s gross; Prompto’s suddenly filling every one of those nasty omega stereotypes, and he hates himself for it, entirely and thoroughly. He feels… gross, pathetic.

 

He’s gotten good at pushing down the insecurities, at simply being Noct’s best friend, but… in moments like these, suddenly, the sheer amount of status between them is terrifying, overwhelming.

 

“Prompto—” Noctis starts to say, starts to protest, but Prompto’s already moving to the front door. He’s not really dressed to be wandering out on the streets at night, but he needs to get away. He’s already opening his phone to call a rideshare as he stops in the doorway to kick his shoes on—

 

Noct’s hand curls around his wrist, though, and Prompto’s whole body jolts in response. _Fuck,_ the surge of warmth is stronger than it should be. But, overwhelming that is the heat of shame. Prompto can’t quite meet his best friend’s eyes, can’t quite _think_ of anything to do.

 

“… Prom, I don’t _care,”_ Noctis says quickly, and he sounds frantic. Prompto can barely wrap his mind around the words, but he pauses, for a moment, as he tries to process just what’s happening here. “... it was just a question, cuz it smells _amazing_ in there.”

 

Amazing.

  
That’s the word that catches, the one that sticks, that has Prompto suddenly trembling, violently. He should pull his hand away. He should definitely go home, because even if this situation is about to twist, he knows it’s a direction it _can’t_ go in. And still—Prompto has no idea what to say.

 

“Noct, I…” Prompto swallows heavily. He doesn’t have _words._ Well, there’s plenty of things he _could_ say, all involving his increasingly twisted fantasies, that the idea of being fucked senseless in his best friend’s bed, being totally enveloped in that musky scent, is the hottest thing in the world. “… heat, soon, I guess,” he settles with saying, quite lamely.

 

Noctis doesn’t reply for a second, then, “… wait, fuck, you really were jerking it in my _bed?”_

 

For a moment, the panic had started to dissipate, and suddenly, it’s rising again, sharp and heavy. “What?! _No!”_ Prompto’s trying to tug his hand away, but Noct’s grip is firm. He’s losing control of the situation, things are slipping away, quickly spiraling, and Prompto can’t tell where this is going.

 

“Noct, no, I wouldn’t!”

 

As much as he wants to look away, Prompto can’t help but twist his head around, _staring_ at Noctis, desperation in his eyes. He doesn’t want his best friend to think it’s like this. Noct’s gonna think he’s a gross omega, that he can’t handle his hormones, that he’s a walking stereotype. And okay, maybe lately he has been, but it’s only been for _Noct—_

Then, Prompto realizes there’s no anger in his best friend’s eyes. He’s gotten pretty good at reading Noct’s emotions, after all. There’s a bit of… wry amusement? And god, there’s a curiosity that Prompto hadn’t quite been expecting.

 

“Better not, without me,” Noctis says, and Prompto’s convinced he’s teasing.

 

“That sounds way too much like an invitation, Noctis,” Prompto laughs, shaking his head, doing his best to tease right back, though he has a bad feeling that desperate quality is sneaking back in. God, the thought of the two of them, curled up in Noct’s bed, exploring, _watching_ how the other likes to touch. ‘You’re not rutting anymore, dude, so don’t tempt me.”

 

“It _is_ an invitation,” Noctis says quietly, and he finally releases Prompto’s wrist, though the look in his eyes hasn’t shifted.

 

Prompto’s phone hangs in his hand between them, open on the rideshare app still, but _totally_ forgotten. His mind’s going blank. This has to be a trick, right? But… Noct seems sincere. He’s just curious, maybe. But god, there’s arousal starting to build, the first little tendrils tangling within him, going straight to his cock.

 

“… it’s a school night,” Prompto says lamely.

 

Noct’s shoulders shake and he laughs a little. “That’s the _only_ thing you have to say? Not ‘gross Noct, I’m not into that?’ or something? _It’s a school night?!_ ”

 

Prompto feels his cheeks flush again, even _more,_ though he’s not even sure it’s possible for them to brighten even more. He looks less like a human and more some sort of tomato-omega hybrid. He’s still waiting for Noctis to grumble that he’s just like everyone else, that he’s a mess of an omega, that he needs to get out—but Noctis isn’t cruel. He’s sincere, and god, the way he’s _looking_ at Prompto…

 

“What, you wanna do the porn thing again?” he asks softly.

 

Noctis shrugs. “If that’s your thing. I—I dunno, it’s been a rough day, Prom. I wouldn’t mind working out some stress.”

 

More than _anything,_ Prompto wants to lean in and kiss his best friend. He doesn’t. He’s nervous, he has no idea what they’re even doing here. This—this is crossing a line. This is definitely blurring boundaries so much that Prompto has no idea where they stand, or what this is. He’s still turning though, abandoning all plans to leave, and following Noctis back down the hall to the prince’s bedroom.

 

Noctis tugs out his laptop and hands it over, as Prompto sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed. God, it really _does_ smell like the two of them, their scents mingling, and it’s so _nice._ The whole apartment would smell like that, if they were together. He _wants_ it, the longing is building…

 

“Find us something to watch,” Noctis says, and Prompto realizes, as the best shifts, and Noctis sits down next to him, that his best friend’s stripped down to his boxers. God, he knows he shouldn’t stare, but he can see the distinct bulge of a half-hard alpha cock and _oh_ fuck, are they really about to do this? It’s going to ruin everything, it’s going to burn any possibility of coming back from this away. Noct’s going to take over his fantasies forever, indefinitely, and Prompto knows it’s a bad idea.

 

“No way! I picked last time, Noct, it’s _your_ turn this time!” Prompto manages to find his voice, and he even offers his best friend a lopsided grin as he pushes the laptop back over in Noct’s direction.

 

Noctis rolls his eyes. “You’re the horny one.”

 

“ _You’re_ the one who just suggested we jerk off to porn together,” Prompto points out right back. Somehow, this situation has gotten so ridiculous that he’s almost finding it easy to joke. God, this is such a _bad_ choice.

 

“Technically _you_ suggested it. And you find the good, gross stuff,” Noctis retorts, and Prompto rolls his eyes.

 

“You’re such a diva, _highness,”_ he teases, and… oh fuck, did Noctis just _shudder?_ It’s barely there, but Prompto swears, his best friend just made the tiniest sound, and there’s a definitely tremor wracking through him. God, is Noctis _into_ this?

 

Prompto, at this point, has his favourite blonde omega’s username memorized. He glares pointedly at Noctis, but he’s still opening the laptop and directing the browser to the porn site. Shame is… pretty much out the window at this point, because they’re about to get mostly-naked together and jerk off. His cock’s way too interested in that, and slick is already beginning to gather between his thighs. God, Ignis is going to _murder_ them both, if he finds out, and Prompto’s almost hysterically amused by that fact, in the midst of all of this.

 

“This guy uh, does some… _weird_ stuff,” Prompto mumbles up as an offering, as he scrolls through the search results. He doesn’t elaborate on the ‘heavily pregnant omega getting railed’ part, but it’s obvious by the thumbnails.

 

Noctis leans in, head tipped to the side. “Click that one,” he says, quietly, when Prompto hovers over one titled, quite grossly, ‘heavily pregnant omega needs thick knot.’

 

“… wait, what? You’re into that sort of thing?” Prompto can’t quite hold back his surprise. He knows _he’s_ gross, but this is all Noct’s idea. Prompto just likes this particular porn star, because… well, the pregnant blonde omega thing works for him, yeah, but the videos are amateur and the two guys in it seems to genuinely like each other. (Their profile states that they’re an actual couple, so makes sense.)

 

Noctis shrugs. “Curious, I guess. Why, are _you_ into that thing?”

 

Prompto squirms a little, as he clicks on the video and makes it full screen. “…I dunno. I’m an omega, I guess… it’s interesting,” he confesses, and even though the words aren’t _really_ confessing anything, it feels a bit like he’s exposing his whole soul to Noctis. It’s a weird sensation, a creeping dread that’s mixed with an impossible tinge of _hopefulness._ God, maybe Noctis is just as gross as he is. It’d be so nice, if Prompto didn’t have to quite hide his fantasies so much…

 

Setting the laptop down on the bed in front of them, Prompto sighs as he makes himself comfortable. There’s an inherent awkwardness that comes with the whole scene, but as he shifts the pillows, propping them up more comfortably behind them, it’s a little easier. Noctis seems _totally_ relaxed, and that helps, the prince’s dark eyes focused on the screen for the moment.

 

God, the cute blonde omega really _is_ pregnant, and Prompto half-worries the poor thing’s gonna go into labour or something before the end. He’s got the cutest tits, too, swollen and heavy with pregnancy, and fuck, Prompto is _already_ slipping into fantasy. He shouldn’t, not with Noctis _right here,_ but he wonders how it’d feel, to have his best friend’s baby in his belly—a hand graces lightly over his own flat stomach, pushing his t-shirt up so he can run his fingers over warm, soft skin…

 

“What do you think it feels like?” Noctis asks quietly, interrupting Prompto’s fantasy.

 

On the screen, the omega’s got his legs propped up, and his alpha’s crawling eagerly between them, spreading kisses along his inner thighs, before sliding hands up under his thighs, gripping his ass and spreading it wide and open. Prompto groans a little, watching as the alpha’s tongue glides over the omega’s exposed hole, teasing it, gathering up the slick…

 

“What?” Prompto manages, swallowing down what feels like a heavy lump in his throat. “The sex? Or the pregnant part?”

 

Noctis shrugs a little, and he’s so _noncommittal,_ even though in his peripheral, Prompto can see his hand toying with the band of his boxers, slipping down and then palming over his half-hard cock. “Dunno. Both?”

 

_Both._

 

Prompto can feel the slick gathering between his thighs. He wonders if Noctis would dote on him like this, all heavy and round with his heir. “.... I heard it makes you really sensitive,” Prompto confesses, shuddering a little, as he’s very vividly imagining his best friend’s tongue gliding over his own hole, spearing inside, lapping up the slick. It makes him squirm a little, even if he shouldn’t. Noct’s _right_ there, but it’s so hard to care.

 

Noctis laughs a little. “Seems like it’s just months of being uncomfortable, to me…”

 

Despite that, Prompto can see Noctis rubbing himself through his boxers now, out of the corner of his eye. He chances a proper glance, eyes flicking from the screen to his best friend – fuck, he feels _dirty_ for doing it – and he can see a heavy, wet spot right where the thick head of Noct’s cock is straining against the fabric.

 

 _Need_ explodes in Prompto’s belly. His own cock is fully hard – and god, it’s totally from watching Noctis, from _smelling_ the (his) alpha, not even from the porn – and there’s a fresh pulse of slick wetting his thighs. Sighing, he wiggles his hips, slipping his sweats down his hips, and when his underwear catches and tangles and goes with it—Prompto can’t even be bothered to really care.

 

“… the idea of it is kinda nice,” Prompto finds himself admitting, as his fingers curl around his cock, giving it a rough tug. His voice is already taking on that breathless sort of quality. Everything he’s saying is something he _shouldn’t,_ but they shouldn’t be here, should they? Later, he’s going to question just what the hell is going on with their friendship, but—oh, the room smells good. The alpha on the screen has three fingers knuckle-deep in his omega’s wet ass now, and the poor thing is so _hard,_ thrusting his hips down onto the fingers, fucking them deeper.

 

Prompto _whines,_ low in his throat. He wants Noct’s fingers inside him. God, he wants Noct’s dick, but somehow, with his best friend right there, there’s still a barrier. There’s a distinct rule screaming _don’t touch,_ and he can’t bring himself to break it.

 

“You like the idea of getting knocked up?” Noctis asks, breaking the bit of silence that had fallen between them. His breath is a little ragged, and Prompto chances another quick glance. His breath catches, and he has to really bite back a _moan,_ because Noct’s shifted his boxers down his hips, and that thick, alpha cock is laying heavy against his belly. His knot’s only partially swollen, but already, it’s _perfect._ Prompto wants to sink to his knees between Noct’s legs, he wants to worship the length of that cock, to trace his tongue along the thick underside, to suck on the head and taste the musk of precome—

 

“… I dunno,” Prompto admits, quietly, dragging his eyes back to the screen. _Keep your eyes on the porn, Prompto,_ he tells himself, and that concept is _hilarious,_ in itself. “… the idea of belonging to someone so fully, I guess. And—being _filled…”_ He’s flushing absolutely _bright_ red, cheeks flared up, and Prompto tips his head, looks away pointedly.

 

“I-I’m just… I’m horny, Noct, and it’s a dumb omega thing…”

 

The shame is washing over Prompto, but somehow, it’s doing nothing to calm the sparks of arousal that are bursting in his veins. He’s so fucking _hard,_ and his fingers are still curled around his cock. Groaning softly, Prompto touches himself the way he likes. It’s with rough, fast jerks, his wrist flicking at the tip, thumb smearing precome over the head. His thighs are wet and shiny with slick, and if Noctis wasn’t _right_ there, god, he’d have fingers in himself. Somehow, _that_ is where Prompto’s drawn the line, as stupid as it is.

 

“ ‘s fine,” Noctis groans out, and his voice is a little rough, hoarse in a way that Prompto _understands._ Even with the sound of the porn between them – and the omega and the alpha on screen are finally fucking, with the wet, slapping sounds of sex – he can hear the soft, wet sound of Noctis stroking himself.

 

Fuck, Prompto wants to _ask,_ wants to beg Noctis to just crawl on top of him, he’d part his thighs for his best friend, and he’s so _ready_ to take a knot…

 

“Fuck,” Noctis murmurs under his breath, “that’s hot…”

 

Prompto lifts his eyes again – pointedly avoiding looking at Noctis – and on the screen, the pregnant blonde omega is riding his alpha like his life depends on it. His belly’s so swollen and round, he has to lean back, hands steadying on the alpha’s thighs. His breasts are bouncing with every motion, and the alpha’s got a hand cupped over one, teasing and pulling a puffy, swollen nipple.

 

So, maybe Prompto’s weird, but at least Noctis finds this _hot_ too.

 

“… mmm,” Prompto finds himself agreeing, as he curls his fingers tighter around his cock and strokes harder, faster. He’s wet now, and not just from slick. There’s some much precome wetting his fingers, and he can feel the familiar build of orgasm in his belly. Prompto wants to last forever – he doesn’t want _this_ to end, it’s the closest he’ll ever get to having Noctis – but he can’t hold back.

 

 _Especially_ when his eyes drift again. Noct’s jerking himself hard and fast. His cock is _big,_ bigger than Prompto’s, with the typical flared knot at the base, the one that Prompto’s been fantasizing about. It’d be swollen heavier in a rut, but it still looks so thick…

 

Suddenly, Prompto’s pretending he’s the omega on the screen. He’s the one with the big belly, carrying the Lucian heir so well. Noctis would be so _proud_ of him—would dote, kiss his tummy, would dive between his thighs and wiggle his tongue up into his sensitive, wet entrance, worship him from the inside out. It’s Noctis pulling him onto his thick cock, Noctis staring at his belly juts out, Noctis playing with his heavy, swollen tits—Noct’s fingers tweaking and pulling at an erect, darkened nipple—

 

“Fuck…” Prompto whines, and then, oh, then he makes a mistake, “ _Noct….”_

Prompto’s orgasm catches him by surprise. It pulls him totally off guard, like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, he’s gasping, his whole body jerking taut as his release spurts over his fingers and coats his lower belly. His shirt’s ridden up some, but there’s come staining the fabric anyway. He’s lost in it, the bursts of pleasure ricocheting around his skull like fireworks, the pulses searing his overworked nerves.

 

He wasn’t even stuffed full like he’d craved, and yet—it’s intense. Prompto gasps and whines, writhing and bucking his hips up into his hand until he starts to come down, until the pleasure begins twisting into oversensitivity, little explosions of pain that have him shuddering.

 

When he pulls his hand away, lets it rest heavily on his heaving belly, fingers smearing through the mess of come, Prompto realizes Noct’s gone silent next to him, too. _Fuck,_ did he ruin Noct’s orgasm with his own? Did he—mortification is suddenly sweeping in, replacing the arousal, as Prompto realizes it’d been his best friend’s name he’d moaned, when he came.

 

Then – chancing another quick look – Prompto realizes there’s come _everywhere._ Noct’s cock lays wet and heavy- his knot so thick and inflated - on his stomach, in a pool of his own release. There’s strings of it connecting the flushed head to his belly, and the alpha is panting heavily, head tipped back against the pillows, eyes shut.

 

“… fuck…” Noctis laughs quietly, as he, too, apparently is returning to the living world. “… why haven’t we been doing this all along?”

 

Prompto’s stomach does a flip. He wants _more,_ god, he wants to put on a show for Noctis. He wants to show his best friend how he _really_ likes to get off, with a thick toy buried inside his ass. He wants to confess every single deep fantasy he’s ever had, and he wants to _never_ stop doing this. Breathing in heavily, the room _smells_ like sex. It’s the combined earthy musk of _alpha_ and the sweet undertones of _omega,_ and their scents, together…

 

It smells _heavenly._

 

“Pretty sure I just broke like, ten laws or something, Noct,” Prompto points out, with a breathless laugh. “I’d probably be exiled if we got caught. Or executed. I dunno, at least thrown in prison.”

 

“We didn’t _do_ anything,” Noctis finds the energy to sit up properly. He wipes his messy hand off on the leg of his boxers and leans forward to shut off the porn. The two are still going at it, and it’s a little embarrassing, really, how fast the two of them had gotten off. Prompto wonders if _they_ could last longer, if they were the couple in the video—somehow, he doesn’t think so. He’s way too sensitive, all the time, and _way_ too thirsty for Noct’s dick.

 

Now that they’re drifting back to normalcy, Prompto feels so _exposed._ The air conditioning in Noct’s room suddenly kicks in, too, with a quiet hum – probably detecting the sudden, rapid spread of heat and stale air of sex filling the room. Shivering, Prompto pulls his boxers up, over his wet cock and his ruined belly.

 

Damnit, he doesn’t know how Noctis can look so _casual,_ as he tips his head. “We should probably shower, huh?”

 

Prompto flushes. “It’s your place! You can go first!” He’s not entirely sure he can _move,_ for one. For another, he’s half-hoping Noctis will offer the invitation for them to shower together. He’d love to have Noct’s hands on him, slowly and tenderly washing away the evidence of what they’ve just done…

 

Noctis rolls his eyes. “Idiot, I’ve got the guest bathroom, too. We can _both_ shower.”

 

Oh. Or that.

 

Prompto’s flush deepens, as he nods. “Y-yeah. Okay, sounds good, I’ll take the guest shower…” His legs don’t want to work, as he scoots to the edge of the bed. It smells so amazing, too, and fuck, the urge is so strong to instead curl into Noct’s side, to bury his face in the alpha’s neck and breathe in the scent. The draw is almost a physical pull, almost _painful_ to resist, he wants it so badly.

 

Prompto’s feet almost give out on him, as he pulls himself up with a wobble.

 

“Hey. Prom. You okay?” Noctis asks quietly, as he shifts, lifting his hips up to pull his boxers back on. He’s still half-hard, and his knot’s still swollen, the fabric of his underwear doing _nothing_ to hide that. Prompto’s whole body is screaming that Noctis needs an omega to knot, a warm body to come in and fill up, and fuck, isn’t he just that?!  


He can’t bring himself to offer though. It’s just… it’s pushing too much, too far.

 

“I’m fine, Noct!” Prompto smiles a little too brightly, too enthusiastically. He’s _not_ fine, but god, what can he say? He shouldn’t say anything, but this is weird, they just jerked off together, and how can he possibly point out that he still wants more. “… just, isn’t this weird?”

 

“Again with the weird,” Noctis rolls his eyes. “… you should stop worrying so much about that. Just _enjoy_ it, dude.”

 

Easier said than done. Prompto sighs, and retreats to the guest bathroom to take a shower, and he has to fight the urge to slip three fingers into himself and pretend that it’s Noct fucking him into oblivion.

 

Prompto finishes his shower first, and this time, he remembers to change Noct’s sheets. It’s not so much that he cares about what Noctis thinks – the scent is _amazing,_ the two of them mingled together like that. He tells himself it’s because of Ignis, and if Noct’s advisor catches them, he may just casually disappear from his best friend’s life. Maybe the real reason is that it’s too real, though. Prompto knows he’ll get lost in fantasies again, and it’s becoming harder to discern fantasy from reality. God, that porn they’d watched—he knows they’re too young, and he knows it’s stupid. All that talk about carrying Noct’s heir is just desperate fantasy, thought up by a prince who’s desperate to avoid the fate of a political marriage.

 

Still…

 

The bed shifts, and Noctis climbs in behind him.

 

“Hey,” Prompto mumbles, though his eyes are firmly shut, and he’s telling himself that this is all hopeless. He needs to _stop_ being in love. He needs to stop dragging his fingertips over his belly, imagining a _baby._ His heat is definitely coming up, and Prompto hopes it’ll come and be over with, and then maybe his fantasies will shift back to normal.

 

(He _knows_ otherwise, but he can hope.)

 

“Hey,” Noctis mumbles, and then an arm curls around Prompto’s waist, and Noct’s breath is tickling the back of his neck, and Prompto’s whole body goes tense. “… what, not okay?”

 

“It’s fine,” Prompto breathes out quickly, and his whole body, once the shock starts to fade, begins to melt into the bed. This is more than fine. It’s the nicest thing in the world, Noctis casually spooning him from behind as if this is what best friends do. Fuck, is his knot _still_ slightly swollen? Prompto can feel the bulge of it, against the crease of his ass, through their clothes, and it makes him shudder a little, makes his thighs shift together.

 

“Just…” Prompto hesitates.

 

“Don’t say it. Quit saying it’s _weird,”_ Noctis murmurs, and there’s a bit of teasing in his voice, but there’s sincerity too.

 

Prompto should just roll over and kiss his best friend. At this point, he should just _go_ for it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tips his head back a little, sighing. Noct’s fingers shift a little, pressing just barely into his stomach, over the loose shirt he’s wearing, and maybe, they’re both thinking the same thing. Prompto _wants_ it, so badly.

 

His dreams are decided unsexual again. He’s chasing a toddler around the citadel, and Noct’s laughing and cheering when the baby – a boy, the cutest little thing, dark-haired and freckled – manages a spark of magic, the crackle of electricity heavy in the air, and vaults forward in the air a couple of feet before losing his balance and tumbling over.

 

It’s _way_ more dangerous than the sex thing, and Prompto knows it. When he wakes up in the morning, Noct’s rolled away from him, and they have to rush to make it to school on time. They don’t talk about things, and that’s for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is... the last chapter, probably, before things go full on weird and gross so IF YOU AREN'T AWARE WHERE THIS IS GOING, BY NOW, PLS READ THE TAGS. THIS. BOY. IS. GETTING. KNOCKED. UP. like 100% this is gonna be omegaverse mpreg. kthx.
> 
> anyway, i didn't get a chance to reply to comments last chapter cuz I WAS SO BUSY UGHHH i will try this time!!! i read them all and loved them and screamed so pls. <3 feedback is loved and appreciated, or come scream on me on twitter @thatdest. <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “… sorry,” Prompto admits, drawing back a little, his cheeks bright red. He glances at the movie, and pretends to be interested in that. “… I uh, get caught up in… thoughts sometimes.” 
> 
> What kind of an answer is that?
> 
> “Thoughts,” Noctis repeats. “You really _are_ thinking about me, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update. this chapter was like 3/4 done for several days but it's month end closing shit at work and my brain is just so tiiiiiiiired. ):

Some part of Prompto is hoping that, now that he’s finally sated that weird desire to _see_ his best friend, the feelings will finally dissipate. He manages to half-convince himself of that, too, as the days tick by and things are totally normal between them.

 

Well, they’re _mostly_ normal. Maybe he catches Noctis glancing at him a couple of times, with a strange intensity flashing in his eyes. Prompto thinks it might be his imagination, though. It’s hard to tell for sure. Noctis hasn’t mentioned the whole jerking off right next to each other thing, and Prompto is both relieved and a little disappointed.

 

Should they talk about it? He’s pretty sure they should. But if they _talk_ about it, it’s admitting that best friends don’t really do that sort of thing. Then, inevitably, Prompto’s huge crush will come out, and Noct will hate him, and… he’ll lose everything. So, he keeps his mouth shut, and his head down, and he hopes that it just passes.

 

The dreams keep coming though, unbidden, uninvited, and it’s at the point where Prompto doesn’t want them, either. He can’t handle it. He’s sick of waking up in the middle of the night with ruined underwear, because his _dumb_ omega body can’t get itself together. His subconscious is stuck in the gutter.

 

And, to make things worse, he’s starting to feel like shit.

 

Alphas and omegas aren’t as rare as they used to be. There’s less of a stigma, yeah, but… education still is kinda lacking. When Prompto starts feeling tired and crampy, a strange gnawing feeling building slow and steady in the pit of his stomach, he frowns and checks the date on his phone. He’s discreetly marked his calendar with the day he’s supposed to go into heat, and it’s totally because of _Noct,_ though he doesn’t want to admit that. He can’t be around Noctis when that happens; Prompto doesn’t trust himself, as much as he wishes he did.

 

It’d be easier, if it was just a _hormone_ thing, and less of a ‘madly in love with his best friend’ kind of situation. Putting the two together, though, the wild surge of hormones that comes with his heat, and his already frantically pounding heart… he’d make a mess of himself.

 

His heat’s not due yet, though, and Prompto frowns. He wishes that someone had gone over all the weird, subtle nuances that come with having a secondary sexuality. He debates – briefly – talking to Ignis, because… well, he’s a beta, but he’s the one person in Prompto’s life that always seems to have all the answers.

 

Prompto groans though. He can’t even _imagine_ how that conversation would go. Ignis would find some reason to separate him from Noctis, maybe, or… well, maybe not. Despite how stern Ignis could be, he’s given up on trying to keep the apart. Either way, it’d be awkward as hell. All those awful omega stereotypes already exist, and Prompto doesn’t wanna feed them. He _can’t_ let himself come across as a thirsty, desperate omega, slutty for alpha dick, even if… that’s currently exactly what he is.

 

So, instead, curled up in his bed at night, Prompto decides to simply fall back on what he always does: the internet.

 

He’s relied on search results for… way more in his life than he wants to admit. Not only the weird porn stuff, or the more complicated issues that come with his gender. His parents haven’t been around much at all, and Prompto had been a chubby, unhealthy little kid binging on fast food and curling up on the couch watching movies, when he’d gotten the brilliant idea to search the internet for a beginner’s guide to running. From there, he’d learned he could look up pretty much _anything—_ cooking tips, how to improve his self-confidence, help with homework he was struggling on, since absentee parents couldn’t help…

 

Hell, he’d spilled an entire bottle of (stolen) wine on the couch a year or so ago, when he and Noct were feeling particularly rebellious, and the internet had told him how to clean the stains out.

 

Maybe that’s some sort of insight into his life, and how he’s had to do it all on his own. Whatever. It seems to work.

 

There’s a rumbling feeling in the pit of Prompto’s stomach, a strange emptiness, a phantom ghost of cramps that he knows will come, when his heat overtakes him. It’s strange, though—intense, and way too early. A frown tugs at his lips, as a hand slides down to rub along the curve of his pelvis. Maybe, Prompto tells himself jokingly, it’s his body begging for Noct’s baby.

 

(He shouldn’t joke about that; it’s too close to the truth for comfort.)

 

The frown on Prompto’s lips deepens as he stares down at his phone screen. Apparently, alphas and omegas that are bonded, or cohabitate, can have cycles that slowly coincide. He doesn’t live with Noctis (well, not _really…)_ and they sure as hell aren’t mated, as much as the back of Prompto’s neck itches to be marked. He finds a couple of articles that ‘suggest’ close proximity to a rutting alpha can ( _in rare circumstances)_ trigger an early heat, but… it’s not like he was really _around_ Noctis.

 

Prompto decides that his body is just being _dumb._ Maybe it’s nothing at all.

 

If he’s early, it’s a total coincidence.

 

He tosses his phone aside – alarm set for ridiculously early – and stares up at the ceiling. Prompto wills himself not to have gross dreams tonight. He doesn’t _want_ to dream about riding Noct’s dick anymore, because it’s… too much. He’s turning into a desperately needy little thing, and even thinking about _not_ thinking about Noctis has Prompto’s dick twitching against his belly, a little pulse of slick wetting the cleft of his ass…

 

“Goddamnit, Noctis,” Prompto sighs, and he rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow.

 

\---

 

“You okay, dude? You look tired,” Noctis comments at lunch the next day, and Prompto feels about ready to simultaneously _murder_ the alpha, or burst into frantic tears. Or, of course, maybe he should just jump his best friend and get it over with, damnit.

 

Prompto knows he’s tired. His body feels sluggish. His morning run did _not_ work out – his legs felt like lead and just wouldn’t _move_ properly – and he’d been woken in the middle of the night by dreams of being brutally deep-fucked by his best friend. In that one, Noctis had pressed his face into the pillows, a hand curled tightly around his throat, and Prompto had woken up gasping for breath, as if phantom hands were _really_ choking him through an orgasm. (He wishes.)

 

He hadn’t had time to pack a lunch, either, but naturally, Ignis made a second one for Prompto anyway. Prompto doesn’t know _how_ Ignis does it, but the guy seriously has a sixth sense for this type of thing…

 

“Gee, thanks for the compliment, Noct,” Prompto replies casually enough, with a roll of his eyes, even if his thoughts are going haywire. He hopes Noctis doesn’t see the way he’s shifting a little awkwardly.

 

They have a study period after lunch, so _naturally_ that means an extended lunch hour for them is in order. Prompto swears, one of these days, he’ll actually use the time to do school work, but that’s directly at odds with being best friends with Noctis. (Not that Noct doesn’t work his _ass_ off to get good grades, he has to, he’s the prince, but things come easier to him. Prompto’s more hands-on.)

 

It’s a warm day, seated in the park a couple of blocks away from the school. Noctis bought them both fancy coffee drinks from the coffee shop across the street, and Prompto knows it’s gonna go right to his ass, but he’s drinking the sugary concoction anyway. At least Ignis packs healthy lunches, right?

 

“Seriously, though,” Noctis says, as he’s scooping his share of the vegetables from his packed lunch into Prompto’s container. He steals a few scoops of rice in return, and Prompto allows it, partly because he’d never deny Noctis anything (oh, that makes his heart flutter again), and partly because he’s never gonna eat all that anyway.

 

“Seriously, what?” Prompto leans back against the wide tree trunk they’re seated under, catching shade the branches are casting. “I _really_ look that bad?” Prompto takes his looks very seriously, and he’s squirming a little in concern. It’s not that Noctis _cares_ about his looks, Prompto has come to learn, but his own self-worth is still tied to it in a strange way. He wants to be worthy of Noctis.

 

Noctis rolls his eyes. “I never said you look _bad._ You never look bad. Just tired.” The prince takes a huge bite of his food, and tips his head thoughtfully, eyes narrowed in Prompto’s direction. “Up all night thinkin’ about me again?”

 

Prompto damn near _chokes_ on his own food. He coughs and sputters, and frantically reaches for his drink to clear his throat. _Smooth, Prompto._ So fucking smooth.

 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Prompto doesn’t even have a good comeback for that. He’s pretty sure his cheeks are bright fucking red now, added on top to the dark shadows under his eyes and sunken face. Fantastic.

 

“Wow, it was a _joke,_ Prom,” Noctis replies casually enough, though Prompto knows his best friend well enough to recognize the subtle shift of emotions. Amusement… which makes him relax a little. A joke. But there’s something else there, a flicker of something darker, something that goes right to Prompto’s chest and knocks the breath right out of his lungs all over again. Curiosity? Possession? God, he’s losing his mind again.

 

He needs to stop seeing _something_ out of _nothing,_ doesn’t he?

 

“… sorry,” Prompto mumbles, and he wonders when the hell things with him and Noctis got so awkward. This is all his fault, isn’t it? He keeps pushing. But he _wants,_ oh god, does he want, Noctis to invite him back over again. They could do the porn thing again, and maybe this time, Prompto will find the courage to tip his head, to bury his face in Noct’s shoulder and breathe in _alpha…_

“Just not sleeping well,” Prompto decides to elaborate, sighing. “… probably an early heat, Noct.” He feels his cheeks flush even redder (hello, tomato Prompto) with that confession. As if Noctis needs to know _that._ “… sorry, that’s TMI huh?”

 

“Quit apologizing,” Noctis rolls his eyes, leaning forward to playfully nudge Prompto’s shoulder. The contact is quick, fleeting, playful, but it leaves a wake of fire behind, prickling Prompto’s skin through his school uniform, surging through him— _fuck._

 

“You were around for my rut,” Noctis shrugs casually, as if they’re having the most mundane conversation in the world, instead of edging around the subject of _alpha_ and _omega._ Prompto’s the one making it weird though, right? They’ve been pulling off the best friends thing pretty well, even if he wants to jump and bone his best friend.

 

“I was _kinda_ around for your rut,” Prompto shoots back. Oh, how he _wishes_ he’d experienced the full thing. His gut twists a little, as he tries to imagine how _full_ it’d feel. Maybe Noctis would leave him heavy with a baby, and that’s the _last_ thing he needs to be thinking about—

 

“Ignis ruins all the fun,” Noctis shrugs.

 

Prompto’s stomach is doing flips, and he’s still having trouble breathing. “… Noct, you don’t want me _really_ there for your rut,” he points out quietly.

 

Noctis shrugs. He doesn’t offer a verbal answer to that, and it has Prompto’s heart racing in his chest. He takes a bite of his food, and a sip of his drink, and a strange silence falls between them. _Does_ Noctis want a soft, willing body to rut into? Should Prompto offer? His mind is doing that stupid thing again, where it’s racing between two extremes. On the one hand… Noct’s hands on him, Noct’s _knot_ buried deep in him, splitting him open… Prompto wants that. He wants it intrinsically, as if it’s tied to his very being. Fuck, he _needs_ it.

 

But more than that—on the other side of the spectrum, is his best friend. The dorky prince who likes to lounge around on the couch with him, watching shitty movies, stealing bites of his lunch and slacking off on royal duties. Prompto’s so damn _terrified_ of losing that, of losing this casual dynamic they have, that he can’t see what’s right in front of him.

 

Why can’t he have both? It’s all tied together at this point, but—he doesn’t see it that way.

 

A few more bites of food, and Noctis speaks. “… I can clear my schedule, if you want. For help with your heat. I know you said it gets bad.”

 

Prompto sputters helplessly, though _this_ time he doesn’t choke on his food at least. “… the fuck, Noctis? Ignis would _kill_ you,” he points out, lamely, as if Ignis has anything to really do with any of it.

 

Noctis shrugs. “He doesn’t have to know.” Another pause, and another bite of food. “… it was just a suggestion, Prom, geez. You don’t have to bite my head off.”

 

Prompto doesn’t respond, because he _can’t._ If he opens his lips again, some stupid confession is going to tumble out. He can’t handle Noctis figuring him out—because in his dumb, teenage mind, how the hell could Noctis _want_ him like that? He’s not going to let their dumb alpha and omega hormones get in the way of the best damn friendship Prompto could ever possibly hope for in his life.

 

Never once does he entertain the notion that maybe, just _maybe,_ Noct’s just as desperately in love as he is.

 

\---

 

“I can’t go home tonight,” Noctis grumbles, as school is ending, later. “Ignis totally threatened me. He wants to brief me on this _awful_ meeting of dad’s I sat in on… and I totally promised him I’d tidy up cuz the maid can’t come this week…”

 

“And let me guess,” Prompto chimes back, nudging their shoulders together, “your place is a disaster.”

 

Noctis groans. “Total hurricane. I was running late cuz I slept in…”

 

Prompto laughs, because Noctis _always_ sleeps in, and is _always_ running late to school. He doesn’t bother saying that, but he shrugs as casually as he can. “Come over, then? My folks aren’t home.”

 

“Of course they aren’t,” Noctis rolls his eyes, because just as he’s always late, and his place is always a mess – Prompto’s parents are always _away._ Business or vacation, or whatever, Prompto doesn’t question it anymore. He’s used to being on his own. It’s part of why he and Noctis have grown so close, he supposes. _Maybe_ it’s the root of his... weirder fantasies, that deep-rooted desire to have a family with the one person he’s ever cared about.

 

That’s thinking too deep, though. Maybe Prompto’s just really thirsty.

 

Either way.

 

They’re almost all the way to Prompto’s place, when he _realizes,_ with a jolt, that he hasn’t had the time to properly clean up. Prompto’s never really overt when it comes to the things he does behind closed doors, but… there are tell-tale little signs. The faint scent of _omega_ pheromones that cling to the blankets he hasn’t washed yet. He’s _pretty_ sure his toys are safely tucked away, but he definitely didn’t clear his internet browsing history—

 

“You okay?” Noctis asks quietly, his hip bumping into Prompto’s. “You seem on edge?”

 

“Fine,” Prompto grits out in response. He’s overthinking. Noctis pretty much caught him jerking off in _his_ bed and he hadn’t cared. What does it matter, in the long run? They’ve blurred lines enough that Prompto shouldn’t worry, right? His best friend will surely ignore it. Well… that, or he’ll reach his breaking point and realize just how _fucked up_ Prompto really is.

 

Manic paranoia is totally Prompto’s thing, and he’s about ready to jump out of his skin, when Noctis reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Prompto’s heart _stops,_ he almost trips over his feet, he frantically glances in Noct’s direction as his cheeks light up bright red—

 

“Relax,” Noctis says softly, head tipped in his direction, dark eyes intense as they stare into Prompto’s. He’s pretty sure they’re sharing a _moment,_ but the meaning of that moment, the meaning of all of this… it’s hanging just out of Prompto’s grasp, just beyond his comprehension in some strange way. “… it’s just me, Prom.”

 

“… right,” Prompto says quietly, more for himself than to acknowledge Noctis. “Right.”

 

Noctis eventually slips his hand free from Prompto’s as they make their way the rest of the way to his place, but there’s a fluttering, lingering warmth, the phantom feeling of fingers twined with his.

 

When they get to Prompto’s place, they dump their bags unceremoniously on a living room chair. It’s kinda nice, having the whole house to themselves. It’s not a big place, but it had felt awfully lonely, when Prompto was young, and his parents started working these ridiculously long hours and leaving him all alone. With Noctis, though? It’s comfortable. It’s easy for Prompto’s eyes to slip shut, for him to imagine this being _their_ house, toys scattered about, laughter and tiny footsteps—

 

“Guessing the fridge is mostly empty,” Noctis interrupts Prompto’s thoughts, though that’s a blessing all on its own. Prompto flushes a little – how does he always come back to this? – and nods, glancing up at Noctis, who’s rifling through the fridge like he owns the place.

 

(He practically does, who is Prompto kidding?)

 

“There’s salad and stuff,” Prompto laughs, watching Noct’s nose wrinkle in response. “We can order pizza or something if you want.”

 

“Sounds good,” Noctis agrees, and as he flops down onto the living room couch, taking time to fumble with the food app on his phone to order something, Prompto sneaks up to his bedroom. There isn’t time to change the sheets, but he _does_ open a window, and he does a quick sweep of the bedroom. The drawer where he keeps his (slightly shameful) collection of sex toys is cracked, and he ensures that’s shut. He clears the incriminating browser history on his laptop, even if that’s pointless, since Noctis definitely watched porn with him.

 

It’s acceptable enough.

 

When Prompto makes his way back down, Noct’s already found a shitty movie for them to watch. It’s one they’ve seen ten times over, notoriously known for being so bad, it’s good, with no plot, _awful_ acting, the worst, cringe-worthy dialogue they’ve ever heard… and they both love it.

 

“Not this again,” Prompto sighs, but he’s holding back a little smile at the same time. Noctis found a blanket lying around somewhere, and he’s got it tucked around his body. It’s inviting – more than it should be, but that’s everything involving Noctis – and Prompto settles in next to his best friend.

 

“Shut up. You love this movie,” Noctis teases. “I ordered pizza. It’ll be here… eventually.” The pizza place by Prompto’s sucks, but whatever, they don’t have anywhere to go. It’s still late afternoon, and Prompto _knows_ Noctis is gonna end up sleeping over, shirking his duties. Part of him wants to be the good influence and tell Noct he really _should_ go home, but… like hell he’s gonna do that.

 

Prompto’s only half paying attention to the movie, as he snuggles a little closer to his best friend. They’ve seen this movie enough times that they have most of the words memorized. Noct’s a comfortable weight to settle against, and… as Prompto lounges against his best friend, the phantom cramps he’s been dealing with all fucking day seem to dissipate a little. Noct’s like a miniature heater, his body so _warm,_ and he’s just… _alpha._ He’s an alpha – Prompto’s alpha, his mind fills in the blanks, fuck – and it’s everything his body has been craving. Already, he feels so much _better,_ less anxious, more at ease, relaxing and melting against the form of his best friend.

 

“You’re clingy today,” Noctis comments, teasing, as Prompto’s head droops down on Noct’s shoulder, without him even _realizing_ it. It’s just… warm, and there’s a magnetic force between them, pulling Prompto closer, drawing him in. He jolts a little, a surge of that ever-familiar panic spiraling up in him, and Prompto _should_ pull away, he knows—

 

But Noct’s arm slips down, settling in the space between Prompto and the back of the couch, fingers settling neatly on his hip, and Prompto feels like he’s _drowning_ in the sudden flood of heat that crashes over him. Noct’s _touching_ him, and it’s such an intimate little gesture, his best friend’s fingers curling in slightly, nails just faintly gripping into the jut of his hipbone. Shamefully, there’s a little bit of wetness between his thighs, there’s his heart thumping just a little wilder than usual, but more than the weird teenage hormone stuff, Prompto just feels… protected? Safe?

 

Is this what having an alpha is like?

 

His throat is dry, too dry to talk, and Prompto’s mind is totally _blank._ There’s a thousand things he wants to say to nothing, and nothing that he actually can say. A part of him wants to forget about everything else, to simply relax and let Noctis hold him. Another part of Prompto, though, is screaming that this _can’t_ be his life. As much as he wants to throw himself at Noct, as much as he wants to be _his_ omega, to carry his heirs, to carve a spot out at the future king’s side—

 

Instead, Prompto tips his head and presses his face into Noct’s neck, and _oh,_ he shouldn’t, but the smell is so _good._ It’s stronger here, his face nuzzled right into the sensitive spot over Noct’s scent gland, and when Prompto breathes in, it’s _Noctis—_ he doesn’t know where he ends, and where his best friend begins, and it’s so perfect.

 

“Noct…” Prompto doesn’t mean to say it, but his best friend’s name is on his lips, and the sound is so quiet, content, an easy little moan that slips out. That scent is _doing_ things to him, both relaxing him and loosening him. His body’s so _ready_ for Noctis, his thighs a little bit slick as he shifts closer, his cock starting to stir—

 

Noctis shifts in response, and it’s _almost_ enough to drag Prompto back to the real world. He starts to jerk back, but Noct’s fingers _tighten_ against his hip, squeezing and pulling him closer, and oh. Prompto must be dreaming, he decides, at some point, he fell asleep. This is another of his vivid fantasies, ones where Noctis will whisper sweet nothings in his ear and promise to breed him, to put a baby in him, drag him back to bed…

 

Maybe it’s the surge of omega hormones that’s got Prompto feeling so _daring._ Maybe he’s really convinced himself that this is just another one of his fantasies. Or, fuck, maybe he just needs to go for it, before he explodes, but his lips are pressing, soft and warm, against Noct’s neck. It’s slow, purposeful—and undeniably a series of little kisses, right into the curve of Noct’s throat. Prompto’s breath catches, and a low, needy whine slides up from the back of his throat.

 

Noctis tastes _amazing._

“… your heat starting?” Noctis asks quietly, after a moment, but his voice sounds strained, and his breath’s heavy. His head is tipped to the side, and his fingers are sliding smooth circles on the jut of Prompto’s hip, the little motion driving him _crazy._

 

The words are enough to snap Prompto out of his reverie, and he realizes what he’s _doing._ Fuck, he’s gross. It’s a steady spiral down, and he’s not sure _how_ he justified nuzzling up into Noctis and acting like that—and it makes sense that it’d be his heat. Shame floods through him, because that’s not even it. That gnawing, aching feeling is still there, and Prompto knows the cramps will hit soon, hot and heavy, but he’s not in proper heat, not yet.

 

If he was, he’d be _begging_ for a knot, fuck.

 

“… sorry,” Prompto admits, drawing back a little, his cheeks bright red. He glances at the movie, and pretends to be interested in that. “… I uh, get caught up in… thoughts sometimes.”

 

What kind of an answer is that?

 

“Thoughts,” Noctis repeats. “You really _are_ thinking about me, huh?”

 

There’s that familiar wall of panic rising up in Prompto, but—fuck, the tone of Noct’s voice, the hint of suggestion in there, it’s telling him that maybe, just maybe, it’s not all _that_ bad. Noct’s been understanding so far, hasn’t he? He’s offered to help with the _heats,_ he’s indulged Prompto’s gross porn interests, he’s had every damn chance to run away, and he hasn’t.

 

If his friendship was going to be ruined by this, Noctis wouldn’t be here right now, would he? They’re best friends, but they’re _also_ an alpha and an omega, and maybe the two are intrinsically tied, maybe Prompto can’t keep running—

 

“I just—” Prompto starts to say, his voice catching, and the wave of panic is crashing over him again. He breaks off, looks down quickly, and he’s about to tell himself _forget it,_ this is _stupid,_ but… Noct’s hand is moving. It finds his, their fingers tangling, and the alpha gives him a quiet, reassuring squeeze as their fingers twine together.

 

Somehow, that’s encouraging. Noctis _wants_ to touch him. He’s not scared off.

 

“… Noct, it’s all true, every stupid thing I’ve said,” Prompto blurts out quickly. And once it starts coming out, he can’t stop it; the storm of words are an onslaught, and it feels good to finally get it out. “… I mean it. I know I’m just your stupid commoner best friend, and you’re _way_ out of my league, but—I’d kinda do anything for you! If you want someone to rut into, or—I dunno, if you’ve gotta make babies someday—I _want_ it to be me!”

 

His eyes are fierce, burning bright with unshed tears, and it’s stupid, who _cries_ when they’re confessing how fucking thirsty they are for their best friend? But, Prompto somehow finds the inner strength to keep his gaze steady, to stare Noctis down. There’s a moment of silence, one where Prompto is desperately trying to convince himself not to backtrack. He could add the whole ‘sorry, heat talking’ comment and try to salvage things, but—

 

Noct’s expression confuses Prompto for a moment. It’s blank, as if his best friend is mulling things over, and then—

 

“You think _you’re_ out of _my_ league?” Noctis breathes out quietly, and there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Prom. I’ve been throwing myself at you for weeks now, you do know that, right? I asked you to jerk off with me in my _bed.”_

 

Wait.

 

_What?_

“You’re the _prince,”_ Prompto says, as if that makes him any less dense, as he’s realizing, quite suddenly, that Noctis hasn’t exactly been subtle about any of this. His mind had been quick to justify everything, to throw Prompto into this loop of uncertainty where he assumes it’s all about hormones. Even as he’s tried to convince himself that they’re not just gross, thinking with their dicks, he’s… essentially assumed Noctis is doing _just_ that.

 

Prompto suddenly feels very dumb, but he can’t be upset about that, because there’s a warmth spreading. There’s the fire burning that Noctis wants _him._

 

“I don’t want to be the prince,” Noctis reminds him, for what feels like the thousandth time over the course of their friendship. “I just wanna be Noctis. _You_ make me feel like it doesn’t matter what I am. You only care about who I am, Prom.”

 

Noct’s leaning in now, and Prompto finds himself mirroring the motion, until their foreheads are pressed together. The world’s starting to fade away, the movie background noise, far off in the distance. Prompto’s _never_ felt the way he feels right now. He’s melting, but he’s burning up too. His stomach is jumping up to his throat, his heart is hammering in his chest, and he could die right now, and he’d be happy.

 

“… I just wanna be your omega, Noct,” Prompto confesses, softly.

 

A hand lifts, and as Noctis cups his cheek, thumb stroking over the line of freckles Prompto knows is there, his best friend laughs. “… you’ll never be _just_ my omega, Prom. You’re _Prompto,_ fuck, I’m crazy about you—”

 

And if there’s more that Noctis is gonna say, he doesn’t say it, because he’s leaning in, and they’re _kissing,_ finally, and the world ends there. Prompto’s mind goes blank, and this time, it’s a blissful, euphoric kind of white static. All he can focus on is the feeling of Noct’s lips on his, the _taste_ of alpha, of Noctis. Prompto’s arms curl around Noct’s neck, and he presses back, he returns the kiss as best as he can. It’s messy and it’s probably bad, and he thinks some tears _might_ be streaking down his cheeks, but right now, it feels perfect.

 

Prompto’s stomach is twisting when Noctis draws back. There’s a warmth rising in him, a desperate desire that’s so much _more_ than his fantasy. He’s dreamed of this moment, so many times, but it’s real now, it’s tangible, and it’s so much _more_ than he’d imagined. In his dreams, Noctis is commanding, dominating, but the reality is a shocking amount of warmth and affection—it’s so _real._ It’s so good.

 

“You wanna…” Prompto starts to say. And then, naturally, the doorbell rings.

 

Right. The fucking _pizza._

 

“Food first?” Noctis is the one to untangle himself from the mess of blankets, and as he stands— _oh,_ Prompto doesn’t miss the bulge in the front of Noct’s pants. Noctis palms himself down, tries to make it look less obvious, as he goes to answer the door and grab the pizza.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto’s throat is suddenly dry. “.. food first.”

 

There’s a promise there, and fuck, he’s never been as thirsty as he suddenly is right now, squirming in his seat as Noct returns with a box of pizza and a couple of cans of soda. God, there really _is_ no going back, and Prompto’s more than happy to dive in headfirst, without any further thought of consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, BOYS. FINALLY.
> 
> yes, the next chapter is gonna be exactly what you're hoping it's gonna be. some friends and i have a joke that noct and prom would be desperately pining after each other, and then they FINALLY kiss, and within 30 mins of kissing, noct's suddenly balls deep in his best friend. i just can't write it any other way. they'd go from desperately thirsty to frantic fucking within minutes LOL. 
> 
> i'll try and be faster about the updates, but AX is this weekend!!! so i'm hype for that.
> 
> as always, i love your feedback and kudos and comments so much. ;3; i'm on twitter @thatdest, pls come scream at/with me about preggo prompto cuz it's GONNA HAPPEN. WE GETTING THERE. thank you for reading and sticking with my gross thus far! <3 yall are the best~


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn’t answer the question of how to get where they both want to go, but Prompto doesn’t care, and fuck, it’s like a floodgate opens, the second his bedroom door is shut. The window is still open, and the room smells fresh, airy. Of course, he only gets a moment or two to think on that, because, suddenly, Noct’s lips are on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, the long awaited 5k words of smut lmfao. <3

The pizza tastes like cardboard in Prompto’s mouth. It’s never the best pizza _anyway,_ but he can’t focus. Noctis is sitting next to him on the couch, and they’re close, thighs touching, hips bumping as they lean in to grab their sodas off the coffee table.

 

The movie is still playing, and Prompto tries to focus on that, but all he can think is _Noctis,_ the beating of his heart a vibrant staccato every time he glances sideways at his best friend. Noct’s thoughtfully chewing on his own slice of pizza, but Prompto thinks, just maybe, there’s an impatience there, that the way Noct is shifting in his seat betrays him, too.

 

Maybe Noctis wants this too. It’s _hard,_ though, bridging that final gap between them—the fact that he managed an awkward, muddled confession is a miracle in itself.

 

“How’s your pizza?” Prompto asks, finally, after a few minutes of silence. God, it’s only been a few _minutes_ and already he’s pretty sure his temperature has sharply jumped up a few degrees. His cheeks are pink and he can’t stop squirming. He can _feel_ the little pulse of slick between his thighs, and how pathetic is that? Nothing might even happen. (God, if nothing happens, Prompto’s going to _explode.)_

“Bad,” Noctis admits, though, with a laughter that Prompto swears is tinged with something else. He leans forward to grab his soda again, and tips it back, downing a few gulps. “This place always sucks.”

 

“So why did you order it then?” Prompto teases, even though they both know it’s because it’s cheap and there’s no delivery fee because it’s close to his apartment.

 

Noctis shrugs. He tips his half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box and looks at Prompto. It’s stupid, how something as simple as a _gaze_ raking across him can reduce Prompto to liquid, molten want. The desire surges through him, and fuck, he wants nothing more than _Noctis_ right now. That kiss—it’d been everything, his body is burning for more. Twisting to the side, Prompto can’t help but lick his lips.

 

“You wanna keep watching the movie?” Noctis murmurs, and Prompto thinks, for once, he gets what Noctis is saying. Or, well, he’s hoping he does, and he’s willing to take a chance on it. There’s too much heat to ignore it, too many thoughts of _Noctis._

 

“You uh, wanna go upstairs and watch something in my room instead?” Prompto asks, going for it. As if they’re going to watch _anything._

 

“Yeah dude,” the response is instantaneous, “c’mon, let’s go.”

 

Prompto can _see_ the damn evidence of Noct’s desire, as his best friend stands up. They’ve spent like ten minutes in silence pretending to care about pizza, and Noct’s erection has only gone down a little. It’s probably the teenage hormones, the omega pheromones, the fact that Prompto’s wet as hell and it’s a thick, syrupy scent hanging in the air. Either way, he’s quick to follow, jumping up so fast his limbs are almost giving out. They’re a couple of eager, overexcited puppies as they bound up the stairs, leaving half-empty cans of sodas and a box of soggy pizza to deal with later.

 

It doesn’t answer the question of how to get where they both want to go, but Prompto doesn’t care, and fuck, it’s like a floodgate opens, the second his bedroom door is shut. The window is still open, and the room smells fresh, airy. Of course, he only gets a moment or two to think on that, because, suddenly, Noct’s lips are on his.

 

Strong arms – how is Noctis so _strong? –_ wrap around him, pulling him close, and Prompto gasps into the kiss. It’s not much better than the last one, but fuck, it’s still the best kiss he’s ever had. Noct’s tongue delves into his mouth, and his best friend tastes like pizza and soda. It’s all wet heat, saliva and pressure, and Prompto can only whine, returning the kiss as best as he can, a hand shifting to cup at the back of Noct’s neck, to hold on for dear life as they begin to figure this out.

 

They only part when Prompto’s lungs start to burn. He hasn’t quite figured out this breathing with his nose thing—multitasking is hard—and there’s a thin strand of saliva connecting their already kiss-swollen, shining lips as Noctis pulls away.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto pants, and he can’t help it, he leans in, nuzzling right into the crook of Noct’s neck, _breathing_ it in. “ _Noct.”_

 

Every detail of this is burning into Prompto’s mind. The kiss. The fact that Noct’s still so _close._ Prompto realizes he can feel the heavy press of Noct’s arousal into his hip, and then Prompto realizes that he’s hard too, and so uncomfortably wet between his thighs. There’s a sudden mental image flashing through his mind of Noct on top of him, of feeling him _inside,_ and god—Prompto’s always known he’s wanted that. He’s had so many deep, twisted fantasies about his best friend, but maybe it’s about to become a reality.

 

Fuck, it’s _definitely_ about to become a reality. Some of it, at least.

 

“You keep saying my name like that,” Noct’s voice is a little throaty, as he interrupts Prompto’s thoughts, “and I can’t promise I’m gonna be able to hold back.”

 

Prompto laughs against Noct’s skin – and _oh fuck,_ Noct’s skin feels good, tastes good, he can’t help but press his lips in again, tongue darting out to glide over Noct’s throat, the faint tang of salt washing over him – and the arm curled around his best friend’s neck gives a little _tug._

“I don’t want you to hold back, Noct,” he confesses, and just saying the words, a huge weight is lifted from Prompto’s chest. He wants this, he _needs_ this, he’s never wanted anything more than he wants Noct right now. Not even in the throes of heat, all alone with his porn and his sex toys, has Prompto needed something like he needs Noctis in this moment.

 

“Bed, then?” Noctis replies, and he’s taking a step forward, leading the way. Prompto groans, and takes a step back, and they shuffle awkwardly across the room until the back of his thighs hit the mattress. Noct gives him a playful little shove and they go down into a sprawled mess across the bed.

 

Vaguely, Prompto can’t help but think that he wishes this was Noct’s bed – it’s bigger, more luxurious. His is a bit cramped, not nearly as comfortable and nice. Noctis doesn’t seem to care, though, as he leans in and steals another kiss. This time, his teeth drag and tug at Prompto’s lower lip, eliciting a soft, needy sigh. It’s a spike of pain-tinged pleasure that goes right between Prompto’s thighs, has him shifting, feeling another little slide of slick wetting the cleft of his ass. God, he’s so _wet,_ his cock is a hard bulge against the front of his pants—

 

“Smells good,” Noctis groans, shifting to prop the pillows up and kick the blankets down. Prompto wiggles, tries to shift a little closer, and then—

 

“Hey, is that my _shirt?”_ Noctis asks, suddenly.

 

Prompto’s cheeks flush, despite it all, and even though Noct is in his _bed,_ even though they’re making out and both more than a little turned on, there’s a surge of that familiar, bone-deep panic surging through him all on instinct as Noctis fishes his old, worn t-shirt from the tangle of blankets and pillows. The same one, of course, that Prompto’s been sleeping with, pressing his face into when he’s jerking off.

 

“… uh,” Prompto says, a little awkwardly. The strange panic isn’t making his cock go down at all, though. “Maybe.”

 

“I’ve been looking for this _everywhere,_ you know,” Noctis shakes his head. Then, his gaze turns back to Prompto, and it’s heated, his dark eyes glazed over around the edges as he balls the shirt up between his fingers, head tipped. In that moment, as they gaze at each other, Prompto realizes that this is less his best friend, less Noctis, and more _alpha._ Oh, fuck, the things that’s doing to him, seeing Noct’s eyes narrow with lust, his expression momentarily predatory…

 

“It uh, smells like you,” Prompto offers up, and he hopes his voice doesn’t sound as pathetic and squeaky as he thinks it does.

 

If Noctis finds it _pathetic,_ he sure as hell isn’t saying it. Instead, he’s making a low, needy sound, half groan, half outright _growl,_ and then he’s leaning in again.

 

This time, Noct’s full weight pins Prompto down as Noctis sprawls over him, and fuck, the sheer _strength_ takes him by surprise again. Noctis has always carried a subtle sort of strength to him that Prompto’s aware of. It’s an ever-present reminder of the magic that crackles in his veins, the royal blood that’s got the strength of a whole line of dead kings in it. Noctis carries himself with a dignified sort of grace, even in the simpler things he does, like flopping down on the couch with pizza and shitty movies and stolen beer.

 

Or—when Noct’s grinding his hips down against Prompto’s, rutting the thick, heavy length of his alpha cock right into his thigh. _Fuck._

 

“Think you like that— _ah,_ Noct…” Prompto tries his best to tease, but Noct’s lips are on his neck now, and it’s his turn to tip his head back, his breath catching and his chest heaving. Noctis’s lips are spreading a path of fire down the column of his throat, the blood pooling and heat gathering, and Prompto feels like a molten mess of _need._ More than that, there’s a strange new desire building. It’s a fantasy, one he’s entertained, but it’d be so easy now, for Noct’s teeth to sink in, to cut through his skin, streaks of pleasure-pain twisting together as he marks him, claims him—

 

_Oh._

“Think _you_ like this,” Noctis murmurs, voice hot and low against Prompto’s skin, as he sucks and nips his way down his throat. His lips only stop moving when he hits the collar of Prompto’s shirt, and hands are lifting, fumbling awkwardly to work at the buttons. It almost makes Prompto smile because it’s a little burst of _normalcy_ amidst fantasy colliding with reality. Neither of them _really_ know what they’re doing here. This is all new, and fantasy can only guide them so far.

 

“Think I like _you,”_ Prompto manages to gasp, his own fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of Noct’s neck. His hips are rocking up, his whole body alight with mindless pleasure. He’s not being driven by any sort of coherent thought, not really, and their erections grind together with an upward arch of his spine. Both of them groan, Noct’s fingers trembling and slipping with one of his shirt buttons.

 

“Yeah?” Noctis manages a throaty little laugh, rough with arousal. The tone suits him—another heavy shudder works its way down Prompto’s spine. Vaguely, he thinks he’s going to have to change the sheets, because he’s pretty sure his slick has already wetted all the way through his pants. He can feel each little pulse of wetness—how is he so _wet?_ He’s not even in heat. And honestly, Prompto’s grateful for that. A heat would be too much, he wants to savour this, to enjoy the fact that _Noctis wants him._

_Noctis wants him._

 

It’s everything.

 

“You’re in luck,” Noctis teases, as he finally gets Prompto’s shirt off, sliding the fabric down over his shoulders. “I like you too.”

 

There’s such affection in the words that Prompto feels his cheeks flushing bright pink. He struggles a little, twisting and fumbling to get his shirt off, and Noct takes advantage of the momentary distraction to sit back on his heels between Prompto’s parted legs. His own shirt comes off easier, and Prompto drags his eyes up, appreciatively, over the smooth muscle of his best friend’s torso. It’s all lean lines, gorgeous skin, and that damn subtle strength that Prompto loves. Fuck, he _loves_ Noctis, his prince, his best friend, his _alpha._

 

“Noct,”  Prompto almost makes the confession all over again, but fuck, he can’t stop staring, at the gentle cinch of Noct’s waist, the slope of toned stomach that disappears under the band of his pants—the prominent bulge between his legs, the fabric slightly dampened where the tip of his cock is rubbing. Instead, a shuddery little moan comes out, Prompto’s hips lifting, putting himself on display. He’s asking, silently, for more. “… want you. _Need_ you.”

 

“Yeah?” Noctis dips back down for another kiss, and this one is hot, wet, _messy,_ Noct’s teeth sinking into Prompto’s lower lip again, giving a playful little tug. There’s a half-smirk painted on the prince’s face when he pulls back, and his hands are skimming down Prompto’s body, pausing to splay over his chest, palms warm as they settle over his nipples. The touch is so fucking _teasing,_ because Prompto’s sensitive as hell there, arching and groaning.

 

“… you want this, _omega?”_ Noctis asks softly, and Prompto can tell he’s testing the waters, trying out the title. It’s attached to some deep, intrinsic need, the same _longing_ that’s coded into his whole fucking being. Prompto wants to be _Noct’s_ omega, he wants to be filled up by him, bred by him, overflowing with his seed and heavy and swollen with his baby, fuck, it’s all he’s ever wanted—

 

“Noct,” Prompto whines his response, and then, “fuck, _alpha,_ please…”

 

They stare at each other, and it can’t be for more than a second or two, but the tension in the air is tangible, electricity crackling between them. Fuck, they’re discovering something here, together. Noct’s fingers shift just a little, thumbs brushing over the pink, slightly puffy nubs of Prompto’s nipples, and Prompto _gasps,_ twisting and shifting, arching his chest up into that touch. He’s sensitive, little sparks of pleasure surging at his already supercharged nerves. Everything feels so good, so much better than he’d imagined, and Prompto doesn’t want this to stop.

 

He doesn’t, but at the same time—

 

“I want you to knot me,” Prompto whines, when Noctis leans over him again, their erections grinding together with a burst of delicious friction. He’s going to come in his pants if they don’t move on, and maybe Prompto should be ashamed of that. They’ve barely done _anything,_ and already he’s throbbing, aching, straining against his pants in the front, absolutely soaking through them in the back.

 

Noct’s whole body shudders, and his fingers give one more playful tug at Prompto’s nipples – swollen, pink and puffy from the slight abuse already – before they’re running down his belly. It’s not _enough,_ and Prompto abruptly sits up, a hand braced on the bed, the other tangling in Noct’s hair again and pulling him down for a kiss, _another_ kiss, hot and rough and frantic.

 

“Noct,” he groans against his best friend’s lips, tugging him in again, hips rolling forward, “there’s gonna be a million times we can do this slow. I _need_ you, dude, I’ve been wanting this for ages, ‘m gonna come if you don’t—”

 

“… fuck,” Noctis swears, for what feels like the thousandth time. He’s groaning, as Prompto’s hands reach between them. It figures, the omega’s the one to give in first, to become too impatient, fumbling with the button of Noct’s pants, slipping under the waistband— “… wait, Prom.”

 

Those two words are awful. They’re _terrible,_ maybe the worst words Prompto could hear in that moment. He groans, hands stilling, though he doesn’t pull back. “… don’t tell me you’re changing your mind, Noct…”

 

“No,” Noctis says immediately – and Prompto takes that as encouragement. He’s working Noct’s pants down his hips, hand reaching in, and gods, they both groan together, needy moans mingling into one, when Prompto’s fingers curl around the thick length of his cock. Prompto’s been fantasizing about touching Noctis like this forever, and it’s so _real,_ so much better than he imagined. He can feel the thick vein along the underside, already engorged, the knot starting to swell up at the base of his shaft, and he’s so wet with precome already. Prompto’s tempted to push Noctis down onto the bed, to dip his head down, to drag his tongue and _taste—_

“ ‘s—just—” Noctis is trying to say, but the words are broken by a low moan, his hips stuttering forward of their own accord, “… didn’t— _ah, Prom—_ bring condoms…” he manages, and it’s a miracle the words come out, because Prompto thinks he’s figured out how Noctis likes to be touched, smooth strokes of his fist working his best friend’s cock base-to-tip, pausing to squeeze at that slowly-swelling knot.

 

“… don’t care,” Prompto groans back, instantly, and he _doesn’t._ It’s not that he wants to be irresponsible (but oh, he _does_ want to be), but he’s not in heat. All those memories of half-assed sex ed classes where they gloss over weird omega dynamics in a blur stuck with him. He can only get pregnant in heat, and even if he’s quickly approaching that, Prompto’s _not_ in heat. There’s none of that burning sensation, the cramps aren’t so bad, his skin’s a normal temperature, and he’s not dripping and whining for _no_ reason. He’s got a damn good reason to be a hot mess right now, and it’s all Noct.

 

“ ‘s not my heat. We’re safe,” Prompto moans, and he lifts his own hips when Noct’s hands finally – fucking _finally –_ work at the front of his pants.

 

“… does it work that way?” Noctis asks. His lips find Prompto’s neck again, lapping and sucking at a sensitive spot. Prompto’s pretty sure they sound like idiots, trying to have an admittedly kinda-serious conversion, even as Noct’s fingers tremble trying to work his pants down, even as Prompto’s hips lift to allow his best friend room to get the pesky garment off. His underwear comes with his pants in a tangled mess, and Prompto is _almost_ embarrassed as the cool air hits his wet skin. There’s so much slick, wetting the swell of his ass, dripping down his thighs, ruining the blankets, and the _smell_ of it is immediately heavy in the air.

 

Noctis moans. He sucks harder at Prompto’s neck, and they both know it’s gonna leave a mark.

 

“… yeah it works that way, idiot,” Prompto groans. He releases his grip on Noct’s cock, but he’s lifting a leg now, curling it around the alpha’s waist, tugging him in so that their bare cocks are grinding together now.

 

“Ignis said—” Noctis tries to say, but he groans at the heat, at the friction, at how _wet_ it is. He rocks back down against Prompto, and this time, he’s the one to reach down, to tug Prompto’s other leg up around his waist as well. “… fuck, _Prom…_ Ignis said to _always_ be careful.”

 

“Ignis is paranoid,” Prompto gasps. His hips are lifted up at just the right angle, and he shifts just a little, the thick head of Noct’s cock grinding up against his slick entrance. He’s so wet, so _eager_ and ready for it. “… ‘s his job, Noct.”

 

“Maybe we should—” Noctis tries to say, but Prompto’s grinding against his erection, trying to pull it inside. He’s so relaxed, even as his body’s on fire, another little trickle of slick dripping between them. Noctis is big – oh fuck, he’s bigger than Prompto thought – but he’s played around with toys. He can handle it, even if it’ll burn and stretch and hurt at first, somehow that appeals to him. Somehow, that makes it better, the idea of Noctis carving out a spot in Prompto’s body that belongs solely to him. He wants it, needs it—

 

“Just fuck me, Noct, _please,”_ Prompto gasps. His fingers are digging into Noct’s shoulders, nails leaving harsh little red lines as he tries to thrust up against Noct’s erection. He’s begging, and oh, he doesn’t care. He’ll beg for it, he’ll plead, his eyes are half-closed and he’s imagining the sensation of being _full._ He’s imagining his belly swollen between them, so full of Noct’s seed, being so thoroughly bred and claimed, and…

 

“ _Prom,”_ Noctis groans, and Prompto knows he’s won. There’s hot, dull pressure between them, as the blunt, thick head of Noct’s cock presses inside, and _oh._ Prompto’s so ready for this, and he feels his body yield, the sudden burning ache of Noctis thrusting into him his _everything._

 

It’s nothing like playing around with toys. The silicone toys in Prompto’s bedside table are cold, unyielding. Noctis is _fire,_ his cock pulsing and throbbing as he works inside, and Prompto realizes that there’s no barrier between them anymore. He doesn’t know where he ends, and Noctis begins. Everything is _Noct,_ his best friend’s face pressed into his neck, frantic kisses peppered over his skin. Noctis’s hips snap forward, and he sinks in, inch by inch. It hurts some—Noct is big, that alpha cock is so much _bigger_ than he expected—but Prompto’s so wet, and he’s so eager. He welcomes the sensation, hips wriggling down, desperate for more.

 

There’s slick dripping down Prompto’s thighs, as Noctis sinks all the way in with a soft, wet sound. The swell of his knot is pressing firm against his rim, pulsing and throbbing, and Prompto can’t help but whine. He’s never felt so full. Noct’s splitting him open, the head of his cock pressed so deep inside, he’s surprised that it’s not pushing against the flat plane of his belly. It aches and it burns, his body slow to adjust to the penetration, but even _that_ sensation is tied with the pleasure, with that bone-deep feeling of being _claimed._

 

“… fuck…” Noctis gasps, teeth grazing over the side of Prompto’s neck, and the explosion of sheer _instinct_ erupts before Prompto’s half-lidded eyes. He gasps, he wants to beg, because desire floods through him. He wants Noct to bite him, he wants to tie their lives together, he wants to be his _everything—_

 

“Noctis,” Prompto half-gasps, half-sobs, and he’s the one to move first. He’s the one to lift his hips, to try and grind Noct’s cock in deeper. His heel digs into the base of Noct’s spine, desperate and encouraging. “.. fuck, Noct, you gotta move, I need to _feel_ you!”

 

Prompto knows he’s quickly becoming a needy mess. He honestly can’t wrap his mind around the fact that this is _happening_ still. Noctis is on top of him. His best friend is buried inside of him, fucking him, and it’s _everything_ he’s ever wanted.

 

“… sure? ‘s not too much?” Noctis asks, but already, he’s moving. His hips draw back, and there’s delicious friction as his thick cock drags against Prompto’s insides, then he’s thrusting back in. Prompto gasps, cries out, his back arching and hips snapping back down as he tries to pull Noct in deeper. It’s everything—the hot grind of Noct’s cock against his prostate, the soul-deep tug to be _full,_ the way that swelling knot is nudging against his ass. The whole thing has come together, and it’s absolute perfection.

 

“Don’t stop,” Prompto whines and gasps, and he’s doing his best to meet Noct’s motions as the alpha withdraws again, and slams back in, harder, faster. “Never stop, Noct, _please—”_

 

He’s begging. Prompto knows he’s a desperate mess. He wants to remember every detail of this. He wants to burn it into his memory, in case it never happens again. He’ll never be able to jerk off again, he already knows it, because Noctis feels better than anything he’s ever had. It’s like they’re made for each other—because even if the thrusts aren’t quite right, even if the rhythm is stuttered and awkward in places, somehow, Noct still _knows_ how to fuck him. That thick head of his cock – leaking, dripping already, mingling with his slick – is nudging his prostate, and he’s splitting Prompto so deep and wide, so _open._

Part of Prompto wants to beg Noctis to flip him, to tug his hips up, to fuck him from behind. There’s part of him that wants to be utterly _claimed_ and used. But, fuck, he’s all wrapped up around Noctis, his best friend over him. Noct’s hips keep thrusting, rough and fast, and he’s getting frantic. Each time he draws back, there’s a feeling of _loss,_ and then—thrusting back in, Promtpo feels full again, _complete._ There’s sparks exploding before his eyes, the pleasure drawing the air from his lungs in burning little gasps with each grind directly against the sensitive nerves inside. There’s so much slick, more of it, dripping between them, pulsing out over Noct’s cock, soaking him, the bed, their thighs. It sounds so wet, so dirty—

 

“Can I?” Noctis asks vaguely, the words barely even coherent, as he gasps and pants against Prompto’s skin. They’re both covered in sweat, and Prompto can barely hold on, Noct’s shoulders slick even as Prompto’s fingers grip in, leaving so many marks. He understands the question though—and god, there’s a burning in his chest now, his heart pounding, because _yes._ That’s all he wants.

 

“Please—” Prompto gasps.

 

Noctis draws back, and Prompto whines. He’s getting close. His cock is trapped between their bodies, hard and swollen and leaking a heavy pool of precome against his belly. He’s so close to coming, his balls drawn up, so close to the edge. When Noctis thrusts back in, it’s rough, _fast, hard—_

 

His knot’s grinding against the rim of Prompto’s ass, and Prompto pushes back. His head tosses back, and he’s a mess. His cheeks are flushed, his hair’s mussed and tangled, there’s sweat and tears mixed together, wetting his face—never has he been such a creature of wonton need. Hips rocking down, Prompto feels his body going pliant, relaxing, giving way—

 

Noct’s teeth sink into his shoulder, and there’s a sudden burst of _pain_ exploding right before Prompto’s eyes. His vision goes black, then red, and then—the distraction makes him relax, and with a sudden flood of _sensation—_ oh, Noct’s inside, that thick knot popping in, past all resistance, splitting him open. It sears, it burns, it’s perfect and Prompto will never feel the same again—

 

That’s all it takes, and he’s coming. His cock pulses and twitches and _explodes_ between them, messy smears of come spurting across his own belly, across Noct’s. He thinks he’s gasping Noct’s name, or maybe he’s screaming, and maybe it’s just ‘alpha, alpha, knot me, please—’ because that’s all that Prompto’s blissed out mind can comprehend. His body’s drawn taut, back arched like a bowstring, fingers grappling frantically for purchase as he _holds on_ for dear life—

 

“Fuck, Prom, _Prom,_ you’re amazing—” Noct’s gasping, panting, a mantra on his tongue, as he grinds down. His knot’s caught, pulsing and so thick inside, and they both know it’s not going anywhere. Prompto rocks back on him, even through his orgasm, clenching and milking Noct’s knot for all he’s worth. He wants it, wants to be full, _please…_

 

It’s only a few thrusts, so deep and desperate inside, and then suddenly Noct’s coming too. Prompto _feels_ it in so many ways—the way Noctis is crying out his name, the way his hips stutter, and his rhythm becomes frantic and messy. He feels it in the way the alpha over him is shuddering, full-bodied and frantic, and _oh—_ he feels the wet, messy heat, the spurt of come, the way that knot _pulses_ with each spray of his release, flooding his insides.

 

It’s so _deep_ and he’s so full, and suddenly, Prompto has never felt as _complete_ as he does right now.

 

“… Noct…” he manages, barely coherent, panting and frantic, as slowly, Noctis stops thrusting and shuddering and rocking into him. Noctis doesn’t respond for a moment, instead, he shifts a little, planting a hand heavily down on bed next to Prompto’s head, to keep from outright collapsing.

 

“… shit…” Noctis groans.

 

Prompto’s legs fall from around Noct’s waist, back down onto the bed. They’re locked together, and he _knows_ that, because he can still feel Noct’s knot full and surging within him. There’s a lazy little roll of Noctis’s hips, another wet pulse filling him up, so deep inside, and Prompto _shivers._ He’s so full, he wants to slide a hand down, over his belly, to imagine how much of a mess Noct must have made inside of him. He can’t get knocked up—the timing is all off—and that’s for the best, but… the _idea,_ god, it’s so fucking hot.

 

“That was…” Prompto tries to say, but there aren’t words.

 

“… mmm,” Noctis agrees. His lips find Prompto’s shoulder again, kissing and nuzzling into the rough bitemark he’d made, and they _both_ shiver. It’s not the right kind of mark that binds them, but… Prompto still can’t help but feel like it’s brought them closer together. Somehow, he knows there’s no going back from this.

 

It’s several minutes of blissful silence, the two of them riding out the final euphoric high of orgasm together. Prompto’s mind is oddly blank, and there’s still little bursts of pleasure exploding in his overworked nerves, making him sensitive and tingly all over. Maybe it’d be awkward, but Noctis keeps _kissing,_ keeps nuzzling and when Prompto’s bleary eyes decide to start working again, when he chances a glance at the alpha (his alpha, god), they’re both smiling at each other. It’s stupid, but it’s _them._ All of this feels so right.

 

Finally, Noct’s knot deflates, and they both make a quiet sound when he slips free. It’s _messy,_ that’s the first thing Prompto can think, as he feels the wet glide of come dripping out of his ass. God, it’s mingled with his slick, and the whole room reeks of sex, of pheromones and his slick and Noct’s release. They need to clean up, to shower, to probably toss the whole set of sheets, maybe the duvet too—

 

“Nap?” Noctis asks, though, and Prompto realizes he doesn’t have the energy to go anywhere. When he shifts, there’s a deep, intimate burning between his thighs, one that lingers, that reminds him of just what they did. He wants Noct’s knot back inside, but for now, Prompto clenches his thighs together tightly, tries to hold all of his best friend’s release inside of him. It’s gross, but—he likes the full feeling, the feeling of being claimed, _used_ by his prince.

 

“… sounds good,” Prompto hums. Noctis rolls to his side, and tucks an arm around him, and it’s warm. Safe. Prompto can’t help but snuggle in closer, their bodies slotting together. His head tucks neatly under Noct’s, breath tickling his best friend’s neck as he idly nuzzles and kisses there. Noctis sighs – content, the sound is so _perfect –_ and they stay like that, drifting in and out, somewhere between sleep and reality.

 

“… hey Noct?” Prompto asks softly, his voice thick with exhaustion. His body feels heavy; he’s sated in such a bone-deep way, all of that pent-up desire _finally_ released. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything, but Prompto’s finally let all his barriers down. He’s gross, and he’s in love with his best friend. He’s an omega, and Noctis is an alpha, and they belong together.

 

“Mm?” Noctis replies, after a moment, and it’s obvious he’s barely there, just holding on to a string of consciousness before sleep takes him.

 

“… can we do this again?” Prompto’s almost afraid to ask, but he needs to _know,_ and he’s done with the bullshit games. He can still feel Noct’s knot, splitting him open and pulsing as his best friend comes in him, and he’s addicted to the sensation. He’s sated for the moment, but—the desire is going to come back in a hot messy flood, the second he recovers, and Prompto knows it.

 

“… duh,” Noctis laughs sleepily, his voice far-off sounding, and maybe this _is_ all a dream. “… not letting you go. S’good, Prom…”

 

It _is_ good, Prompto silently agrees. He still feels _full,_ wet and messy, and absolutely perfect. One of his hands slips between their tightly pressed bodies, and strokes over the flat delta of his tummy, and he wonders if _maybe,_ just _maybe,_ they can hold on to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is nothing i love more in life than writing awkward idiots having the "hey maybe we should use protection" comment..... when it's clearly WAY TOO LATE to make these considerations. like they were gonna stop what they're doing LOL. i assume in lucis there is a morning after pill, but you think our boys are smart enough to take advantage of that? 
> 
> noctis got a bit nippy there, oops. silly boy.
> 
> i hope that everyone enjoyed the porn :D as always, your comments are what i thrive on. my boss went on maternity leave and left me alone and i'm drowning in my newfound responsibility, so please, distract me with feedback~ thank you, and the next few chapters promise to be A VERY VERY GOOD TIME, man i sure hope prom doesn't. y'know. get knocked up from their unprotected fucking... :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto blinks. “… wait, are we dating now?”
> 
> There’s a certain warm realization dawning in him, at how casually Noctis says the words. As if it’s the most obvious thing in the whole universe. 
> 
> “Duh. Maybe I am calling you stupid,” Noctis laughs, “... I think everything we’ve been doing for a while now counts as dating, Prom.”

When Prompto wakes up in the morning, he’s pleasantly sore, and Noct’s arms are around him. He’s… sticky, more than a little uncomfortable by the feeling of dried sex on his skin—and the first dawning of frantic panic is starting to overtake him.

 

God, what if Noctis _regrets_ it, what if all this was a huge mistake--?

 

Naturally, Noct stirs a little as Prompto tries to slip away. His arms tighten and he sighs softly in his sleep, pressing his face into Prompto’s shoulder. Noctis looks like a dork – a stupid, happy dork, one that’s got a strange little half-smile even when he’s asleep, and he’s pulling Prompto closer, and all the panic ebbs away just as fast as it’d risen within him.

 

Oh, this is _nice._

 

“… c’mon, Noct, gotta pee,” Prompto laughs a little, and it’s one hell of a struggle to detach himself from his apparently clingy as hell…. Alpha? Boyfriend? Best friend? What are they? Best friend, Prompto’s mind settles on, even if everything has changed, that particular detail will _never_ change. He won’t let it.

 

The walk to the bathroom is wobbly, Prompto’s limbs threatening to give out. He turns on the bathroom light – it’s dark out still – and closes the door, and stares at himself in the mirror. He’s a _mess,_ a thoroughly fucked, blissed out mess, and it makes Prompto smile.

 

There’s a faint bruise blossoming on his shoulder from where Noctis had _bitten_ him. His hips are bruised, from Noct’s fingers frantically gripping there. His whole body is streaked with dried slick and come and sweat, and—oh, that burning between his thighs feels _nice._ It aches, and it shouldn’t be as good as it is, but Prompto still can’t help but shift his weight around to feel the ache, the stretch of where Noct’s cock had been buried inside him, splitting him open.

 

(His cock twitches a little, and god, he shouldn’t be so _insatiable,_ should he?)

 

Prompto decides he likes this blissful, fucked-out feeling. He likes it more than he should.

 

After a quick shower, there’s another moment of _panic,_ one where Prompto has no idea where to go from here. Should he crawl back into bed with Noctis? Is that acceptable? Should he put _clothes_ on? They probably should’ve talked about this before all of this happened, but—it’d been so fast.

 

Noctis stirs, and a voice, thick with sleep, drawls out. “… mm, Prom, come back to bed…”

 

Well. That makes the decision. Prompto’s heart leaps up into his throat and a warm, fuzzy feeling spreads through his limbs as he crawls back into the bed. Noctis is squished up on one side, trying to avoid the still-damp spots from where they’d fucked, and it doesn’t leave a lot of room. An arm immediately curls around his waist though, pulling him close, and Prompto snuggles in.

 

“… you smell good,” Noctis mumbles, nuzzling into his shoulder, his breath making Prompto squirm as it tickles him.

 

“And you smell like sex, dude. Should take a shower,” Prompto teases. He _likes_ the thick, musky scent of alpha, though. He likes it a _lot,_ more than he should, and he doesn’t even care that Noctis, objectively, is also a mess of sex and sweat.

 

“Bet you like it,” Noctis mumbles back, barely missing a beat. They both laugh—and it’s a quiet, intimate sound, one that makes Prompto shiver. He tucks his head under Noct’s chin, and even though Prompto’s always an early riser, he finds it _way_ too easily to be lulled back to sleep by his best friend’s presence. And, of course, if he wakes up later to Noct’s hands on him and hot, frantic kisses… well. Prompto thinks he can live with that part, too.

 

(They’re late to school that day, Prompto’s collar tucked up high to hide the myriad of bruises, but their giddy expressions and body language probably give them away. Whatever.)

 

\---

 

“We probably should… keep it a secret from Ignis,” Noctis comments idly, a few days later. It’s been a frantic whirlwind, one where they’ve been finding any excuse imaginable to be alone together. Ignis has been on the warpath since Noctis dodged him and ducked out of royal duty, so unfortunately, they haven’t really _had_ any time together since, just moments stolen making out during lunch hour. Prompto’s thirsty for _more,_ and he can feel the haze of his heat slowly starting to creep in. He hasn’t quite figured out _that,_ because… he doesn’t want to ride it out alone, but asking Noctis for help still seems like a lot.

 

“Ya think?” Prompto rolls his eyes in response. The plan was to get food and then catch a movie after school – it’s one that they’ve both been waiting to see – but fuck, Prompto kinda just wants to get his hands on Noctis. His fingers are itching, and he’s been taking out all that antsy energy by nudging the toe of his shoe against Noct’s shin, shifting in his sheet and batting his eyelashes.

 

“He’s already lectured me like, a thousand times over about all this,” Noctis admits, running a hand through his hair. “Y’know. ‘You’re the prince, don’t do anything stupid’ and that sorta thing.”

 

“Calling me stupid?” Prompto laughs, leaning across the table a little. His fingers are fidgeting against the edge of the tabletop now, and he can’t stop _moving._ There’s too much damn nervous energy, and too much eager anticipation to be close to Noctis. Now that they’ve done this once, a fucking floodgate is open, and there’s no going back.

 

Noctis rolls his eyes. “I dunno. Pretty sure us dating is forbidden or something stupid. Being a prince is dumb.”

 

Prompto blinks. “… wait, are we dating now?”

 

There’s a certain warm realization dawning in him, at how _casually_ Noctis says the words. As if it’s the most obvious thing in the whole universe.

 

“Duh. Maybe I _am_ calling you stupid,” Noctis laughs, “... I think everything we’ve been doing for a while now counts as dating, Prom.”

 

Head tipped to the side, tongue poking out from between his lips, Prompto ponders that particular notion. And—well, okay, maybe he and Noctis have been pretty _exclusive_ ever since they met. Neither of them is inclined to meet other people, or really hang out with anyone else. They have all they need in each other, after all. It still seemed like a big assumption to make, though, a far leap from best friends to boyfriends, but it’s _all_ Prompto wants.

 

“… ‘kay, yeah, you’re right,” Prompto agrees, his shoulders shaking just a little with quiet laughter. “… so, what comes next?”

 

Noctis shrugs noncommittally, but his eyes are narrowed, and there’s a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Skip the movie and go back to your place?”

 

 _Yeah,_ Prompto thinks, because it takes a few seconds for the word to form on his lips. “Yeah,” he agrees, a little breathlessly, the anticipation building within him. Being alone with Noctis again, in his room, where it’s just the two of them—that’s way better than their dumb plans. He can still feel that tight knotting in the pit of his belly, the uncomfortable phantom-cramps beginning to give way to real ones. Soon, his scent will shift, and the full-bodied, needy shivers will overtake him, and then he’ll be in full-blown heat—

 

“Wait,” Prompto says, a little reluctantly, frowning.

 

Noctis blinks. “… bit late to be getting weird, Prom—”

 

“No. Not that,” Prompto laughs, because this is awkward, and he still doesn’t really know how to bring up the subject. There’s a deep-seated part of him that wants to _ignore_ reality, that wants to tell himself this is fine, but he can’t do that to Noctis, he’s got to say it. “… heat soon. We might wanna...” he lowers his voice, glancing around, as if to ensure nobody’s really listening in, “… buy… _supplies.”_

 

There’s a moment where Noctis takes in Prompto’s words, and then he nods, slowly. “We can stop on the way home?” he asks, and Prompto nods, even though he _really_ wants to feel Noctis wet and messy inside him, dripping down his thighs and filling him up and putting a baby in him—

 

Not during his heat. It’s too risky. He can’t _actually_ have what he wants.  

 

Prompto’s the one who gets roped into stopping in the drug store to make the most awkward purchase of his life, while Noctis loiters outside. Noct has a good point: he’s the prince, he can’t be seen buying condoms. There’s a self checkout at least, though Prompto makes a mental note to buy in advance online before to avoid the shame. Tucking the bag discreetly into his backpack on the way out, Noct’s waiting, somewhat impatiently.

 

“Good?” he asks, slipping his hand into Prompto’s.

 

Prompto’s heart is pounding in his chest, desperately thumping against his ribcage in an attempt to get out at how _casually_ Noctis touches him. Like this is something, like this is _everything._ Why is there such a burning feeling, pricking at the base of his neck, like he just wants Noct’s teeth to sink in, to claim him? Why is everything both so vibrant and so sensual, just when his best friend is involved?

 

“Good,” Prompto agrees, squeezing Noct’s hand. Better than good. This is better than _anything,_ and he can’t stop desperately hoping that it’s more than a dumb teenage thing, that Noct’s not lying when he says that he wants _this._ Him.

 

\---

 

They make it into Prompto’s bedroom before Noct’s lips are on his, desperate and frantic, and that’s probably a damn miracle. Prompto gasps into the kiss, arms instinctively wrapping around Noct’s neck, tugging him closer. _This_ is still somewhat new, even though they’re getting better at it. It’s all new, but god, the surge of hormones is unreal. He’s already hard against the front of his school pants, and there’s already slick building.

 

The tight knot of _cramp_ right in his belly tells Prompto he’s right on the edge of his heat. If Noctis stays tonight, the thick scent of _alpha_ will probably draw it out, and he’ll be a needy, squirming mess by morning. He’s always viewed his heat with a sort of disdain and dread, because the things it does to him makes him feel… weak, a bit pathetic. Like he’s ruled by hormones and the nature of what he is, rather than _who_ he is.

 

Noct’s taking initiative, as he always does, an alpha prince through and through. He takes a step forward, Prompto stepping backwards automatically in response, and soon the back of his legs hit the mattress. He sinks down onto the bed – willing, pliant – and Noctis gives him a playful little shove, the kiss breaking messily with thick strands of saliva connecting their shining, kiss-swollen lips.

 

“… Noct,” Prompto groans, and he’s shameless, drawing himself back across the bed. His backpack’s lying on the floor, shrugged off somewhere between the door and here, and they’ll need it, but there’s a strange bubble of apprehension building up in him. Maybe it’s the final resistance, the thought that once he’s delved into the mess of hormones that is his omega mind, there’s _really_ no going back.

 

“Prom,” Noctis says very seriously, though his voice is dark with desire, as he crawls onto the bed. Their eyes meet, and Prompto shivers. His cock twitches and thickens and presses against the seam of his pants. Noct’s hard too, and it’s painfully obvious, the thick base of his knot already swelling to life and straining.

 

“… want this,” Prompto mumbles, but there’s another thick roll of _pain_ searing across his lower belly, and he winces, shifting on the bed, one hand slipping down to rub against the flat plane of his abdomen, trying to ease it away. _Heat,_ god, it sucks, and already there’s a hypnotic delirium beginning to slip in. This is the part where he’d fitfully nap, waiting to be awoken by desperate _longing,_ by the need to get filled and fucked and bred, where he’d turn on gross porn and grab his toy and ride it until his thoughts cleared again.

 

“But?” Noctis asks, filling in the blanks. He leans forward again, settling on the bed over Prompto. A hand braces on the bed next to his head, and the kiss that Noct presses to his lips is… softer. There’s still undertones of desperation, hints of frantic _alpha_ need, but oh, it’s second to little shock of affection that swells between them. It’s far more _dangerous,_ and Prompto knows it, so naturally, he’s clinging to it, lifting up into that kiss, nuzzling their cheeks together as they part.

 

“… ‘m gonna go into heat,” Prompto confesses, as if it’s hard to talk about. It shouldn’t be hard to talk about it. Fuck, he’d _helped_ Noctis through his last one, though he’d been hidden on the other side of town, the connection between them limited to a crackling phone signal. It was different, and besides. Prompto hadn’t been the one baring his whole heart and soul, or so he’d _thought._

 

Things are blurred beyond all distinction at this point, if he’s being honest.

 

“So, we skip school tomorrow,” Noctis shrugs casually, head tipped to the side. His eyes narrow, and they flash with something… an emotion that Prompto wants to classify as _hungry,_ fuck, maybe even possessive. “I’ll stay with you. Help you through it. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

 

The simple words working their way through Prompto’s mind draws a reaction he hadn’t quite expected. His whole body trembles, and he feels the damn wet-hot pulse of slick between his thighs, his body silently screaming its response. “… you’re sure?” he asks, and Prompto already knows the answer, he thinks, in the way Noct’s staring him down. He needs to hear it, though. “… it’ll be messy.”

 

“We have condoms,” Noctis replies (even though Prompto thinks he hears a bit of disdain in the way Noctis says it), and… he has a point. Prompto had suffered that slightly embarrassing trip into the pharmacy for a reason, after all.

 

“… yeah,” Prompto replies, and he’s surprised by how breathless and desperate he sounds. “Fuck, okay, _stay—”_

Anything else he’s going to say is cut off again, by Noct’s lips on his. Prompto’s whole body surges in response. There’s another rush of wet heat between his thighs – god his pants are embarrassingly wet now – and Prompto’s arms lift to curl around his best friend’s neck. He returns the kiss, rough and frantic, and suddenly, everything else melts away. He doesn’t care if Noctis sees him at his worst, because… Noctis is _here,_ Noctis wants this. They’re both trembling a little, and Prompto _moans_ when Noct’s teeth sink into his lower lip, giving a teasing little tug.

 

“Noct… _fuck,”_ Prompto gasps out, as the kiss parts. They’re messy, lips connected by a thick strand of saliva, and somehow, that’s even hotter. Noctis _growls_ in response, something deep and low and so possessive it almost burns into his very soul.

 

“You’re wearing too much,” Noctis replies, and the simple way he says it is so _perfect._ His hands are rough as he works at the buttons of Prompto’s shirt, damn near ripping the fabric as he shoves it down his shoulders. It’s frantic from here, and Prompto’s arms get pinned down in his haste to slip out of his shirt; his hips lift, and Noct’s fingers slip and tremble as he works at his pants. They cling a little – gods, he’s _wet –_ and they’re both laughing breathlessly, lips coming together again in more kisses, heated, frantic, so desperate.

 

“You too,” Prompto tries to tease, but he sounds _way_ too desperate and the effect is lost. He lifts his hands to fumble with Noct’s shirt – why do they have so many _buttons? –_ but Noctis beats him to it, sitting back on his haunches to slide the fabric off down his shoulders. It’s unfair, Prompto thinks, how _good_ Noctis looks, all lean muscle and smooth skin. Prompto groans, aching, needy, another pulse of slick wetting his thighs when Noct wastes no time in tugging his pants down his hips, that thick alpha cock springing free to settle heavy against his toned belly.

 

“… fuck, Noct—”

 

Prompto really does try to keep from whining, but his eyes are burning a hole between Noct’s thighs as he stares down that thick, swelling knot, and he’s shifting his eyes, so eager and desperate to have it stretching him open. It’s a deep, intrinsic need, tied so neatly to everything about Noctis that he craves. His body’s burning for it, _ready,_ and he feels himself descending—his heat’s so close, and god, it’s that much brighter, that much more intense.

 

“You want it?” Noct’s teasing, but there’s an edge to his voice, as he hovers over Prompto.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto groans. His legs part, and he lifts up, and he knows he looks slutty like this. His cock’s hard against his belly, leaking a thick strand of precome over his abdomen. His inner thighs are slick, and his ass is _soaked,_ and he’s already open and ready. God, he _wants_ it—no, more, he _needs_ it. “Noctis, hurry up.”

 

Noctis leans in, and then a frown crosses his face, as he tips his head. “… should I wear…?”

 

“No,” Prompto groans back _immediately._ There’s the slightest flutter of guilt—somewhere, deep down, they know this is a bad idea. There’s another faint cramping in his belly, a sudden wave of _heat,_ and he’s sitting up. His arms wrap tightly around Noct’s shoulder, tugging the alpha – _his alpha, fuck –_ down on top of him in a heavy sprawl. Their erections press together, the burst of friction so good, but not enough, and they both groan.

 

“… yeah, good,” Noctis agrees, and they should _talk_ about this, they should probably be responsible. Noct’s a prince and Prompto’s right on the verge of his heat, but instead, Noct’s thrusting into him and Prompto keens out, a leg lifting to curl around his best friend’s waist, and this feels like coming home.

 

\---

 

In theory, Prompto knows what he’s going to wake up to. They have the decency to drag themselves into the shower before they doze off together, and Prompto changes his sheets, but it’s probably all for nothing. After all, when his eyes slide open in the early hours of the morning, it’s because there’s a _searing_ cramp wrenching through his gut, making him gasp and sputter.

 

It’s nothing new, of course, but—somehow, it seems _worse,_ and maybe that’s just because his damn body _knows_ there’s an alpha sleeping next to him.

 

Noct’s scent is comforting, at least, and Prompto whines, rolling over, pressing his face into Noct’s chest. Everything _hurts,_ sharp and burning, and his body’s wet with sweat and slick. “Noct,” Prompto whispers, and then, more desperately, “ _Noct.”_

Normally, his best friend is a heavy sleeper. That doesn’t change—after all, he’s an alpha, fast asleep while there’s a needy, horny, omega in heat right next to him. Prompto hisses his name again, though, nudges his shoulder, and finally, Noctis stirs. He blinks blearily, an arm lifting to rub at his eyes—and _then,_ Noctis breathes in.

 

“… fuck,” he groans, “Prom, what the hell, you smell _amazing.”_

 

“Noct,” Prompto whines, “I feel like _shit.”_

 

Prompto’s been through a lot of heats alone. Normally, he’d be dragging his ass out of bed for painkillers and a bottle of water. _Then_ he’d settle back in with some gross porn and his sex toy, desperately whining and pretending it’s Noct’s knot fucking into him while he jerks off.

  
He decides, immediately, that he likes this much better.

 

Noctis sits up, and the blankets fall to pool in his lap. He’s half-hard, and quickly filling out entirely. The air still smells vaguely of sex from earlier, and the pheromones of _omega in heat_ are making the air sickly sweet. Noct’s muscles ripple, and his eyes narrow, and the look he’s giving Prompto decidedly make him feel like he’s about to be devoured. (God, what a way to go, Noctis can _have_ him.)

 

“Roll over,” Noctis says, and there’s a hint of _command_ in his tone that oh, Prompto loves way more than he should. He isn’t even sure if he can refuse it, with how badly his body’s yearning to respond, but why the hell would he _want_ to? There’s a flush spreading on Prompto’s cheeks as he bites his lip, as he rolls onto his belly, ass lifting up instinctively.

 

Noctis wastes _no_ time in grabbing his hips, and his fingers dig in harsh enough to bruise, nails leaving little crescents in his skin that has Prompto keening. The pain combines with the pleasure, mingling and twisting into something that translates to another harsh cramp searing up his side. Fuck, he _needs,_ and he’s pretty sure he’s gasping as much, begging muffled, indiscernible words into the pillows. “Please, Noct, need it, fuck, give me your knot—”

 

“Patience, _omega,”_ Noctis replies, quietly, _teasing,_ and god, how is it that Noctis is reaching into his very mind and plucking out his darkest fantasies? How is it that they’re simply that in-tune with each other. Prompto’s heat, it seems, is luring out some darker side of Noctis, and he loves it, he’s thriving. Prompto buries his face into the pillows and waits, eager to feel that thick knot spreading him apart, spearing him and chasing the cramps away.

 

It doesn’t come, but _oh, god,_ suddenly Noct’s hands are on his inner thighs, gripping them from behind. He’s spreading Prompto’s thighs further, and the display _has_ to be ridiculous. Prompto whines, and feels himself getting wetter. He knows he looks about as desperate as he feels, and he wants to be ashamed, but instead there’s another surge, another gush of slick sliding down his thighs, and he’s arching up higher, legs parting, exposed entrance on display for the world—for _Noct._

 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Noctis breathes out, and _oh,_ Prompto can feel his best friend’s breath against his thigh. Noctis is _close,_ his face pressed into Prompto’s thigh now, lips trailing a kiss over wet skin.

 

“Fuck, Noct, _fuck,”_ Prompto gasps out; those lips are hot, they’re too much, even that soft bit of contact spreading pure liquid fire through his veins. His fingers tighten in the blankets, and he’s bucking back into Noct’s touch. He can’t help it, he’s _lost._ “I told you… gets _really_ intense—sorry…” and he can’t help the way he’s confessing either, the way he’s apologizing. The last thing Prompto wants (and it’s always on his mind, damnit) is for Noctis to reject him. If his best friend really realizes how _weird_ he is…

 

“No, I like it,” Noctis replies, voice a low growl. He’s kissing his way up Prompto’s thigh, lips hot and wet against the crease where ass meets thigh. It’s a strange sensation, ticklish, but intense, and Prompto wiggles his hips and bucks back into the touch. He doesn’t know where this is going, but—he _hopes_ he does, and fuck, the idea of—

 

“ _Noct!”_ Prompto knows he’s being loud, but he can’t help himself. Why does it matter, anyway? It’s just the two of them. They’re alone, and the hot drag of Noct’s tongue along the crease of his ass is too fucking much. His eyes are shut so tight that Prompto’s seeing spots dancing before his eyelids, and _oh,_ this is absolutely just like one of the shitty, slutty porn videos he likes to watch.

 

“Wanna taste,” Noctis offers, his voice thick, as way of explanation, and then, oh, if Prompto wants to say anything back, he _can’t,_ because Noct’s tongue is circling his entrance. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but Prompto’s hypersensitive, his whole body burning from his heat. He gasps, his cock twitching heavily where it hangs between his legs, another little surge of slick trickling down, only to be lapped up by that probing tongue.

 

Prompto’s pretty sure he’s making a lot of noise. He’s pretty sure he’s incoherent. His mind is a mess—it feels good, each drag of Noct’s tongue over his entrance relaxing him further.  He’s so hard, so aching, so ready to be stretched and filled with a knot, to be a perfect little omega, all for Noctis, all for him—

 

Noct’s tongue presses past the slick rim of muscle, working into his ass, and Prompto’s _crying._ There are tears, hot and messy, trickling down his freckled cheeks, and god, he needs _more._ This is amazing, it feels so good, and it’s torture, it’s not enough. Noct’s tongue is twisting within him, licking his insides, gathering up all the slick and devouring it. His jaw is pressed against the curve of Prompto’s ass, his hands shift to grip him, fingers digging in and holding him spread open wide and on display.

 

God, he feels thoroughly _owned,_ like Noct’s seen every part of him, and it just makes Prompto harder. His balls are drawn up so tight, his cock is dripping into the mattress, he’s so _wet,_ he’s pretty sure Noct’s face is a total mess.  Noctis does a thing with his tongue, stabs it deeper and laps against his inner walls and _oh,_ there’s a surge of heat, a burst of pleasure that’s chasing the cramps away.

 

“Do that again,” Prompto manages to get out, though his voice is thoroughly _wrecked,_ more a frantic sob than anything else, “please, Noct, _please,_ ‘m gonna come, need it, feels so good—”

 

He half thinks, vague and far off, that Noctis will tease him, deny him, but oh, _no._ Noctis chuckles, deep and rough, the sound vibrating against his skin, and that throaty sound goes right to Prompto’s cock. Noctis dives back in, lapping frantically, the room full of the wet sounds of his tongue, of the slick that’s outright dripping from Prompto’s body. One of Noct’s hands shifts, reaches down between his thighs, and oh, it’s _over._

 

Prompto can’t think, can’t do anything, and hell, he doesn’t even think his lungs work, when Noct’s tongue drags over his prostate, when those talented fingers curl around his cock and jerk him in time with the thrusts of his tongue. The pressure building up in Prompto’s abdomen is intense, it’s spiraling and multiplying and—Noct’s name is on his tongue, maybe, or maybe he’s dying, as his orgasm rips through him, as he explodes.

 

It’s messy, and it’s so much _better_ than doing this alone. He’s desperately thrusting himself back, fucking Noct’s tongue deeper into his greedy ass, clenching and sputtering and dripping slick all over. His cock’s spurting mess into Noct’s hand, onto the sheets, and Prompto arches up—exposing his neck, keening and begging. He thinks he might _actually_ be pleading, or maybe he’s just so far gone it’s nonverbal. He has no idea—no idea, no sense of anything except the pleasure, except Noctis inside him, touching him, one hand still gripping his ass and holding him there.

 

When Prompto collapses into the bed, his thoughts are swimming. He’s vaguely aware of the cramps subsiding a little. He’s _definitely_ aware of Noct’s tongue sliding out of him, and Prompto whines at the loss. He’s still hard—god, how is he _hard still?_ And fuck, that orgasm did nothing to sate the desperate need within him. He needs a _knot,_ and a phantom of a cramp works through him, the reminder that he’s got an alpha with him—his alpha, his—and that’s what he needs right now.

 

“… Noct…” Prompto groans, turning his head to look over his shoulder, and _oh,_ Noct’s a mess. His cheeks and jaw are outright glistening with his slick, and his cock is so angry and red and swollen, it looks painful.

 

“That good?” Noctis asks quietly, in a voice that’s rough, maybe from arousal, maybe from a sore jaw. The idea that he’s already wrecked is doing things, making the arousal build up almost unbearably again already. God, Prompto knows he’s an insatiable, desperate mess when he’s in heat, but the scent of _alpha,_ of knowing Noctis is here to take care of him—it’s made it so much worse, it’s almost more than he can handle.

 

“Need your knot,” Prompto confesses, and he feels himself flush, despite everything. Even though he’s on display for Noctis, even though he’s clutching at the blankets again, rocking his hips up and rutting his still-aching cock into the sheets, there’s the slightest prickle of _shame._

 

“You’ll have it,” Noctis promises, “fuck, Prom, I’m gonna give you everything,” and there’s something in the words that go beyond sex, that go beyond Prompto’s heat. He’s too lost to really comprehend it, but it’s there. Prompto can’t put words to the feeling—so he simply smiles, lost and dazed and so blissed out, but so needy. Noctis smiles back, and leans over him, his voice a rough whisper as he presses a kiss into  Prompto’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t worry, Prom. We’re just getting started.”

 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'M BACK. sorry, i blinked and then realized it was ALMOST A MONTH LATER??!?!
> 
> i won't bog yall down with my shit, you're here for the gross porn, but i had several deaths in my family in the past few weeks, and work has been insane, and i have a marathon in october, and that's just drained all my energy. i feel really bad bc i was doing so well with weekly updates!! plus i had a promptis zine fic to write (it's gonna BE SO GOOD AH) so that kinda took priority. 
> 
> anyway, things have calmed some, so i can hopefully get back to regular updates of Gross ABO Preggo Porn. I had to split this chapter into 2, bc it was turning into 10k words of porn, so... i should be able to update later this week with Intense Nasty Heat Sex. which is what we're all here for, i know. well, that and the babies. anyway. thanks for trekking along, sorry for my extended absence! as always, i love love LOVE your comments and feedback, it seriously inspires me to keep writing this fic, or scream at me on twitter @thatdest !!! <3 thank you ILU NASTIES!!! see you in a few days with moar porn!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s worked so damn hard to keep everything locked away. Once the floodgate opened – Noctis kissing him, Noctis fucking him, all the confessions fumbled and messily spilled – though, it’s been impossible to keep all his deep, dark secrets hidden. Noctis just knows him too well. Noctis knows him, and maybe this is why Prompto wants it so badly—

_More._ He needs more.

 

Prompto can barely register _anything_. It’s all a haze. Noct’s lips are working over his shoulder – hot, wet, and god, just the faintest rough scrape of teeth – and then down his spine, laying a trail of fire that’s working its way into his very core. He gasps, and his fingers tighten in the blankets, and he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, but he’s arching, putting his throat on display, silently _begging._

(He knows Noctis won’t bite, won’t _claim,_ but fuck, if he did, Prompto’s life would be complete.)

 

“Noct,” he gasps, as his best friend shifts behind him, as he feels that thick, alpha cock rutting against his slick and saliva-soaked ass. The pleasure is painful, intense, the need outright burning through Prompto, the urge to be filled damn overwhelming. “Please. Fuck. _Stop teasing—”_

“Impatient,” Noctis chides, and his voice is still so fucking wrecked, in a way that’s a delightful reminder of what he’s just done. It’s shameful, but another gush of slick trickles down Prompto’s thighs, and it’s gonna ruin the sheets—god, he wants to ruin everything.

 

“… knot…  please…” Prompto whines. He knows he sounds pathetic. He’s trembling, his cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat, his whole body flushed blood-red and on _fire_ with the heat. It’s getting worse; that first orgasm has only intensified his need to be filled, to be _knotted,_ and Prompto knows everything’s going to ache until he gets it.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, though, breathlessly—then, an afterthought, “… fuck, Prom, the condoms—hang on…”

 

Right. Through the haze, through Prompto’s insatiable _need_ for more, Noct’s saying the words that need to say, and for a moment, reality crashes back in around them. Prompto whines as Noctis draws back, and suddenly, he’s impossibly _cold,_ despite his body heating up, despite the heated air, thick with pheromones, hanging heavy around them.

 

Prompto wants to tell Noctis to _forget it,_ but he knows, deep down, that they’re already pushing things. Instead, he pants, half-collapsed onto the bed, head tipped to the side to look over his shoulder as Noctis fumbles with the box of condoms. There’s a twisting in Prompto’s gut, a soul-deep desire to be filled and claimed. He _wants_ Noct’s babies in him, he wants the base of his neck to burn with a bond mark, he wants to be heavy and stuffed with royal heirs—

 

“Noct,” Prompto whines, instead of saying _any_ of that. He’s deep in his heat-haze, but he’s not that far gone; just because they watched porn like this together doesn’t mean any of this is real life, right? They’re just kids, and even if Prompto’s hopelessly in love—Noct’s feelings aren’t the same, can’t be the same—

 

Thank the fucking gods, the mattress shifts as Noctis climbs back onto the bed, and that distracts Prompto from his mess of half-formed, nearly indecipherable feverish thoughts. It’s pathetic, how much of a mess he is. Just Noct’s presence has him lifting up again, Prompto outright _presenting_ as he rocks his hips back, as he rises onto his knees and lifts his ass. He can feel more slick sliding wetly down the crease, dripping down over his balls, working down his slick thighs, and he knows he looks _just_ like a slutty omega. He knows, and he should care, but he _doesn’t._

“Someone’s impatient,” Noctis says, and he’s trying to tease, but his voice’s rough with arousal, a tone deeper than usual, and it screams _alpha._

 

“Shut up,” Prompto groans, “I _warned_ you I’d get like this—”

 

“Not a bad thing,” Noctis interrupts, “fuck, it’s hot as hell. _You’re_ hot as hell, Prom.”

 

The words are simple, but the bit of praise goes straight between Prompto’s thighs, right to his already throbbing cock. He tries to laugh, but the sound comes out breathy, needy. Behind him, Noct’s on his haunches, and he can fucking feel the heat radiating off his body. Prompto’s teeth sink into his lower lip, and he whines when suddenly – _finally –_ there’s hands on his hips. Noct’s grip is firm, not necessarily rough, but unyielding, as he tugs Prompto’s hips higher, nudges his legs apart, and _oh._

 

“You wanna be bred?” he teases, in a voice that’s not all teasing, and the words are _perfect,_ filling the void that Prompto’s heat has created within him. It’s sating that intrinsic desire they’re not speaking of, and Prompto moans, low and desperate, rocking back. He feels Noct’s cock – thick and swollen, the knot already beginning to fill – rubbing along his slick crease, and it’s so fucking good, so perfect.

 

“Please,” Prompto gasps, “please.”

 

He wishes, vaguely, that Noctis wasn’t wearing a condom, but that thought’s immediately replaced by the wave of pleasure that explodes in his mind, as Noctis thrusts into him. Prompto’s fingers tighten in the sheets, he’s tugging enough that he’s surprised the fabric doesn’t outright rip as he claws at them. Noct’s immediately buried _deep,_ Prompto’s body soaking wet, yielding entirely to his alpha.

 

“Fuck, Noct, _fuck, alpha—”_

Prompto knows he sounds slutty and frantic, that he sounds just like the wrecked omega stereotypes from the porno videos he’s been shamefully watching. But, oh, it’s _never_ been like this before in his heat. It’s always just been him, alone with his sex toys, and silicone and his hand absolutely can’t compare to this. There’s so much raw strength in the way Noct’s immediately fucking into him, and Prompto feels small, powerless—he _loves_ it.

 

Noct’s fingers tighten, and he’s pretty sure there’s going to be bruises. It’s all a haze – each pull back is frantic, fast and leaves Prompto’s insides clenching, trying to hold that thick cock deep inside him. He gasps, begging Noctis for more (he thinks, at least, words are hard, they’re impossible to hold on to), and oh, he’s _rewarded._ Noct’s moaning, panting heavily, and he _slams_ his hips forward, pounding back into Prompto’s desperate body, so deep that it almost hurts. The room’s full of sounds—the wet glide of slick, the heavy sound of Noct’s cock plunging deep, skin-on-skin as his knot catches, as his balls slap Prompto’s ass.

 

_“Mine,”_ Prompto’s suddenly aware that Noct’s saying, and that’s another explosion within him. He gasps his response – _“yours, always” –_ and somehow, he’s even wetter now. His cock’s throbbing desperately between his legs, and Prompto wants to reach down, to stroke himself off in time, but he can’t _move._ He’s wrecked, totally at the alpha’s mercy, and this is just where he wants to be.

 

When Noctis shifts, pressing him heavier into the mattress, Prompto outright _collapses,_ his body buckling under the additional weight, and they go down into a tangled mess of limbs. He doesn’t care though, his cheek pressed into the damp sheets, their bodies soaked with slick, with sweat, because it just drives Noct’s cock _deeper,_ filling him up and stretching him, putting pressure onto his prostate _._ It grinds Prompto’s own aching erection into the sheets, and he writhes, rutting forward, pushing back against the thick intrusion—

 

His orgasm takes Prompto by surprise, and it’s _intense._ He’s damn near screaming Noct’s name, tears soaking his cheeks even more, making the world fade away—and it’s red underneath his eyelids, instead of black, he’s so gone. His cock spurts and twitches, his release smearing over his belly, over the sheets—between his thighs, Prompto’s damn near gushing around Noct’s cock, around that thick intrusion.

 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Noctis manages to say. His lips are on the back of Prompto’s neck, and they’re so _dangerously close_ to where he wants to be claimed. There’s another fire surging within him, the omega tipping his head, exposing _more_ skin, silently begging, _please—_

 

Noctis doesn’t bite, though he scrapes his teeth over the nape of Prompto’s neck, and the response is _instantaneous,_ sparks erupting, a fresh surge of white-hot arousal making the omega’s body clench up, tighten around the intrusion, and suddenly Prompto’s hard again.

 

“ _Noct—”_ he gasps, “ _please—”_ and it’s not immediately obvious what Prompto’s begging for. He needs everything from Noct right now. He needs to be claimed, he needs to be _full,_ he needs to give his life to his king, to devote everything to the one person who means everything to him.

 

“Want you to come again,” Noctis says instead, and he’s grinding his hips down now, rough and frantic and heavy. He’s so _hard,_ and Prompto wishes vehemently that he wasn’t wearing a condom. The throbbing heat of that thick alpha cock is just _faintly_ disguised by the layer of latex between them. Noct’s knot is swelling up, grinding against the rim of Prompto’s wet, slicked ass, and he lifts up, presses back against it. The cramps in his belly are starting to sear up again, every bit of omega instinct rising to the challenge, begging to be knotted—

 

Prompto cries out, when finally, _finally,_ Noct’s knot works past the tight muscle of his ass, popping inside with a disgustingly lewd, wet noise. There’s the familiar burn, the ache of being stretched open, and it twists with the frantic desire of his heat—suddenly, instantly, without meaning or method or any rational thought, his whole body’s seizing up. That knot drags directly over his oversensitive, swollen prostate, and Prompto can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but buck back on that thick knot, trying to draw it deeper, and he’s lost as another orgasm crashes over him.

 

_Fuck,_ he thinks he’s sobbing; he’s not sure. Noct’s holding him still, pounding him, his knot so deep, throbbing and full and— _suddenly,_ there’s a vague heat, an intense pulsing as Noct’s knot convulses, as his cock twitches. There’s a sudden explosion of pain – oh, it’s _good_ pain, so tightly entwined with lust that it makes Prompto moan – against his shoulder, another mark of teeth into his skin, though not where he wants it. Noct’s shaking, everything is blurry, but Prompto feels the vague warmth of his release, as he spills into the condom.

 

And, _oh,_ his body seizes, tightens up, is all but _begging_ to be filled up, to have nothing between them, to have all those wet, hot pulses of come buried deep inside him, filling him, going right into his womb and taking there—his body wants it, Prompto _needs_ it—

 

“Noct,” he manages, after a few moments, and Prompto knows he sounds wrecked. He _feels_ wrecked, in the most amazing, blissed-out way, as Noctis collapses on his back. They’re so sweaty, their bodies stick together, and it gives the distinct impression of being _connected,_ Prompto unsure of where his own mess ends and Noct’s begins. That knot inside of him is so _full,_ and as the shroud of heat shrinks away (momentarily), Prompto realizes just how _swollen_ Noct’s cock really is. He’s stretched open wider than he’s ever been, and he’s sore, in such a wonderful, aching way.

 

Fuck, Prompto’s going to be raw and chafed and ruined for _days_ after his heat subsides, and he likes that way more than he should.

 

“Mmm,” Noctis groans. “… fuck, we’ve been missing out. We could’ve been doing this all along.”

 

Somehow, Prompto finds it in him to flush, even though he’s underneath his best friend, feeling his knot throb and pulse deep inside of him, spilling another heavy spurt of his release into the condom. His body sings its response – clenches, another wave of slick pulsing out from around that thick cock – all but outwardly begging for there to be no barriers between them.

 

“ ‘m a mess,” Prompto manages to laugh, and even that sound catches, turns into a moan, as Noctis shifts, as his still-swollen knot grinds into his prostate again. The sensation is borderline pain at this point, he’s so worked open, so overstimulated, and Prompto’s whole body trembles, shudders. Fuck, it’s a fresh flood of arousal, and Prompto already can feel his heat creeping back in. Is this what it’s gonna be—marathon sex?

 

“Me too,” Noctis laughs, and presses a kiss into Prompto’s shoulder, directly over the spot he’s bitten, a sort of _claim_ that they both know is a poor substitute for the real thing. “… I need to get rid of the condom, my knot needs to come down, stop _moving…”_

 

Prompto isn’t even entirely aware of the way he’s grinding back against Noct’s knot, his hips lifting, trying to draw the alpha back inside of him. He’s trying to coax more out of him, wants to be so full of come that he’s swollen with it, that his belly juts out, and that’s totally unrealistic, but—Prompto’s thoughts have taken on a dream-like quality, as he’s somewhere between sleepy and desperately horny and lost in his heat. He tries to still his hips, with Noct’s tease, but instead, he’s rocking back again—

 

“Lose the condom, then,” Prompto replies, and it comes out a whine, something that’s embarrassing and needy, but hell, hasn’t Noctis seen all of him? “I wanna feel _you,_ Noct…”

 

Noctis shudders. A hand tightens on Prompto’s hips, and holds him down, and even _that_ little show of power is hot as hell. It’s a command of sorts from his alpha, and it does the trick, Prompto shivering and nails dragging at the sheets as he does his best to stay still, all for Noct.

 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Noctis points out, “Prom, you’re in _heat._ We gotta use the condoms, we both know it—”

 

“I know what I’m saying,” Prompto manages, and he’s proud of how steady he manages to make his voice. Yeah, he’s a mess from the heat. Yeah, he’s half-lost in fantasies, dazed and blissed out. His eyes clear, though, as he looks over his shoulder, as he meets Noct’s smoldering gaze. He holds it for a moment – vivid, bright eyes staring deep into dark, ocean blue – and fuck, Prompto doesn’t think it’s possible to keep secrets from Noctis, not anymore.

 

He’s worked so damn hard to keep everything locked away. Once the floodgate opened – Noctis kissing him, Noctis _fucking_ him, all the confessions fumbled and messily spilled – though, it’s been impossible to keep all his deep, dark secrets hidden. Noctis just knows him too well. Noctis _knows_ him, and maybe this is why Prompto wants it so badly—

 

“We can’t,” Noctis groans. He’s pressing his lips into Prompto’s shoulder, each wet drag of sensation going straight to his cock, to his heart, and in his heat, the two are practically the same thing. Every part of him belongs to Noct, belongs to this alpha, and Prompto wants to sob it to the world.

 

“I know,” Prompto shudders his response – he needs to stay _still,_ he reminds himself, so Noct’s knot can come down, so they can do it all over again. And he does know. “But I want it, Noct, fuck, I _want_ all of you.”

 

Prompto knows the words reveal everything, even if what he’s actually saying is vague, indistinct. He knows, too, that Noctis _understands,_ because the alpha is shifting over him again. Noctis slowly rolls onto his side, tugging Prompto with him – another clench of his ass against that slowly deflating knot, another lewd, slutty surge of slick – and one of Noct’s hands slides down over his abdomen.

 

Oh, it shouldn’t make Prompto _melt_ the way he does. It’s the most comforting touch he’s ever had, though. The flames of his heat suddenly surge, licking the very fucking sky as they dance frantically within him, but another stroke of the pads of Noct’s fingertips, and it’s calmed, in a strange, instinctive way.

 

“… you’re in heat,” Noctis murmurs against his skin. His fingers slide slow, meaningful circles right over Prompto’s pelvis, and it’s so _easy_ to imagine he’s cupping the swell of a forming belly. It’s doing awful things to Prompto, turning him into putty in his alpha’s hands, making his body burn up with the need for it. He won’t be sated, Prompto thinks, _never,_ not until he’s stuffed full of Noct’s come, not until he’s working to grow a baby for his alpha, to give the Kingdom of Lucis an heir.

 

It’s a cruel fate, especially for a needy omega in heat.

 

“Obviously I’m in heat, Noct,” Prompto groans his response. He slides a hand down, though, tangling their fingers together, dragging Noct’s hand up over his flat abdomen, cupping at the lean lines there, picturing it’s soft, full instead. “Doesn’t mean I don’t _know_ what I’m asking.”

 

Noctis laughs a little. “Dude. I _saw_ the porn you’re into. I know it’s not _just_ your heat, but…”

 

“Shut up. You’re so not allowed to bring the porn into it,” Prompto grumbles, and he gasps as a sudden heat-cramp sears up his side, making his body tremble and tears prick in his eyes. “Fuck, Noct. Let’s talk about this later, I need you to fuck me again.”

 

Noctis sounds like he wants to say something, but instead he _groans._ His knot’s finally deflated enough that he can work free – though it stings a little, stretching Prompto’s rim wide and making him soft and pliant and greedy for more. Prompto wants to beg Noctis to _stay_ in his embrace, but the alpha quickly climbs out of bed to tie the condom off (and god, it’s _full,_ fuck, he came so much, Prompto’s body aches for it). When he returns to the bed, sliding in behind Prompto, Noct’s got a fresh condom in his hand.

 

“You don’t nee—” Prompto starts to say, looking over his shoulder. Noctis shuts him up with a deep, frantic kiss.

 

“Shut up. Yes I do, _don’t,_ Prom, because you have no idea how fucking much you’re tempting me,” he groans, and then he’s thrusting back into Prompto’s wet, stretched ass, burying to the base, his knot already started to fill out again, and Prompto can’t find it in himself to complain, because his alpha’s commanded, and Prompto lives to serve. All for Noctis, anything he wants, _everything._

 

Even if, deep down, Prompto is starting to think they want the exact same thing, and that’s terrifying.

 

\---

 

Honestly, Prompto loses track of how long his heat lasts. Usually, he’s decent at tracking the time, but usually, he doesn’t have an alpha fucking him absolutely senseless through it all. It’s a couple of days, he thinks, when he wakes from a dazed nap and realizes, finally, that his mind’s sharp again, that the cramps are only an echo of what they were.

 

He’s pleasantly sore, and covered in bite marks on his shoulders, on the side of his neck, everywhere _except_ the spot that would bind them together, that would mark him permanently. Between his thighs, there’s a deep throbbing, and when Prompto shifts, his ass burns in a way that feels _way_ nicer than it should. He feels wrecked, fucked open and ruined.

 

Next to him, Noct’s fast asleep.

 

They smell _terrible,_ Prompto realizes, but in a way that’s their scents combined, in a way that satisfies him so deeply, it has to be a gross, instinctive omega thing. He breathes in the scent – sex, sweat, pheromones, musk and salt and perfect. He should get up and get a shower. He should _definitely_ get food, because his stomach’s rumbling.

 

Glancing around the room, there’s water bottles strewn everywhere from the quick breaks they’ve taken in their marathon sex. There’s some discarded condoms, from when Noctis couldn’t be bothered to get up to properly dispose of them – and Prompto winces. The cleanup is going to suck.

 

Instead of thinking of any of that, he turns and snuggles into Noct’s embrace, instead. His best friend’s normally a heavy sleeper, but apparently the alpha instincts are strong, enough to pull Noct out of his own sleep.

 

“… mmm, again?” Noctis asks thickly, his eyes blinking open. If Prompto _feels_ wrecked, Noctis absolutely looks it. There’s an exhaustion that Prompto’s never seen before in those dark eyes, heavy shadows under his eyes and lines etched into his skin that usually only come out when Noct’s overworked, before their school exams or when he’s coming off a particularly brutal, work-filled week doing princely duties up at the citadel.

 

Immediately, Prompto feels a rise of guilt at just how much he’s _needed_ Noctis.

 

“Nah,” he breathes out, “… heat’s over, I think.”

 

“Thank fucking god,” Noctis responds, and when Prompto instinctively tenses up, moves to draw away, Noct’s arms slide around him, tightening, pulling him closer. “… not what I meant. Just… I’m _exhausted,_ Prom, you’re like a fuckin’ bunny you know.”

 

Prompto flushes and groans. “Noct, I _warned_ you…” he trails off, though, and ducks his head down into the comfort of Noct’s chest, burying his burning cheeks there. “… it was way stronger than usual, though. I think… having you here…”

 

“Great,” Noctis sighs, “my rut’s going to be _miserable,_ isn’t it? Now that I have you here to help it, I mean. I hope I don’t kill you.”

 

Prompto’s cheeks burn brighter, and he feels the faint throbbing of need between his thighs, though it’s muted, far-off, his body spent and in desperate need of some recovery, finally. “… I read, sometimes, that heat and rut cycles tend to sync up,” he offers up helpfully, a little smile curling at his lips. “So. You never know.”

 

“Fuck, we’re _never_ getting anything done ever again,” Noctis laughs, shaking his head. Next to him, on the bedside table, Noct’s phone vibrates, and Prompto lifts up a little to reach over Noct’s shoulder to hand it to him. Instinct, of course; Noctis loves to ignore his phone, and Prompto feels like it’s his duty to encourage Noct, to be a good influence in at least _some_ way so Ignis doesn’t hate him as much.

 

Prompto can’t help but glance at the screen, as he hands it over.

 

“… Noct, you have like thirty missed phone calls,” Prompto groans, and he collapses back into Noct’s chest, burying his face there. “Holy shit, dude. How long were we like this?”

 

Noctis shrugs. “I texted Ignis after you passed out the first time.” There’s a bit of pride in the way he says the words (‘the first time’) that Prompto doesn’t miss, that makes him shudder and ache all over, so desperate to please his alpha, even after an intense bout of incredibly satisfying marathon heat sex. “Told him we were hanging out for a few days and not to bother me.”

 

“It’s a miracle he didn’t come down here and physically drag you away,” Prompto groans. “Fuck, Noct, it’s _totally_ obvious what we’ve been up to.”

 

Noctis shrugs again, so casually and noncommittally, it’s almost comical. “What’s he gonna do? We were _safe._ Even if you were pretty damn thirsty to ditch the condoms, dude.”

 

There’s a surge of white-hot shame coming up again, and Prompto groans. He’s half-tempted to shrink away, but Noct’s arms are tight around him, and he’s so damn comfortable. Though things like _time_ have lost all meaning to his lust, Prompto definitely remembers everything. He remembers asking Noctis to abandon the condoms, and he _definitely_ remembers the increasing desperation, every time he felt Noct’s release empty into the stupid latex, every time his body was denied being full. It’s not just the heat talking—though the surging hormones definitely made him feel it that much stronger.

 

“I really don’t want to talk about _that,”_ Prompto sighs. “Don’t need a reminder of how embarrassing I am, Noct.”

 

“Never said it was embarrassing,” Noctis replies, lightly enough, and the way his lips find the top of Prompto’s head, kissing into sweaty, mussed hair, makes Prompto’s heart soar, makes him smile despite everything. “… pretty hot, honestly. That you’re that desperate. Good thing your heat ended, too, I think we used almost the entire damn box.”

 

A part of Prompto wishes they _had_ run out. Instead, he sighs, and snuggles in closer. “… we should get up, huh? Take a shower… fuck, I’m starving, Noct.”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, a little belatedly, though he’s stifling a yawn, and Prompto gets the distinct feeling that his best friend’s about to pass out again. It’s hard to be too upset; Noctis looks exhausted. Dealing with an omega in heat – one that’s apparently desperate to get _knocked up –_ can’t be easy. Prompto’s got a whole mess to clean up, anyway. His bedroom’s ruined, he’s got a thoroughly-fucked alpha prince in his bed, one who’s just ditched _days_ of royal duty to dick him into the mattress.

 

Noct’s right, of course, and Prompto knows it. As much as he wants to be bred, as much as he wants a baby inside him, it’d create a whole mess of problems. Their lives are already impossible enough, messy enough, and they can’t make it worse. Still, as he finally untangles from Noct’s sleeping body, stepping into the shower to rinse off all the sex from his exhausted body, the soreness between Prompto’s thighs intense and throbbing—he can’t help but _wish._ He can’t help but wonder just what would happen, just how it would _really_ be.

 

His fingers slide down over his belly, and Prompto lets himself get lost in the usual fantasy, the one that’s become his default by now, his belly full and round. It comes easier now, too—because now he _knows_ what it feels like to have Noctis inside him, to have Noct desperate and fucking him. The back of Prompto’s neck itches, a phantom claim mark searing, and he rubs thoughtfully over his tummy.

 

It’s impossible. But god, he wants it even _more_ now than he did before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i'm back!!! happy monday. i do NOT want to go to work so i'm low-key hoping for some screaming to get me through the day. <3
> 
> i know i keep saying "shit's about to get real" but. UH. SHIT IS ABOUT TO GET REAL. NOCT, YOU DICKED A BOY RAW RIGHT ON THE ONSET OF HIS HEAT, DOES IT REALLY MATTER THAT YOU USED CONDOMS THROUGH THE ACTUAL MARATHON HEAT SEX?! biology is a thing, noct, and that boy's fertile womb is READY FOR ROYAL BABIES. 
> 
> i'm so excited for the next chapters. SO FUCKING EXCITED. DRAMA IS GONNA HAPPEN LMAO. <3 
> 
> as always, pls scream at me!! i'm on twitter @thatdest and i thrive on comments/kudos way more than i should!! ilu all, thanks for sticking with my gross, i will see you soon (if the new wow expansion doesn't steal me away....) to continue the gross. :3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto shifts uncomfortably again. He’s eating way too much, and he knows it, gulping down more food. “I am careful,” he insists. He isn’t, of course, and the guilt is weighing him down, because they’ve been horrendously irresponsible, and Prompto knows it. The more he thinks on it, the more he knows it, and the worse he feels. He wants to keep being irresponsible, and he’s caught in an awful loop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confession: i finished this chapter on september 4th and wasn't entirely sure if i wanted to rework it or not. going over it with a fresh mind and reworking a little bit, i am finally happy. sorry it was a month. i'm so tired all the time you guys have no idea :(

Prompto’s not sure what he expected.

 

There’s a heaviness in the air, when Noctis leaves to go back home. His heat’s over, and the bitter, harsh reality slowly seeps back in around them. Even if they’d managed to ignore the real world spectacularly for a few days, Noctis is still the crown prince.  Prompto is still his nobody best friend. And, _naturally,_ they’ve managed to miss a few days of school. Noctis has blown off his royal duty, and Prompto thinks, there has to be consequence for all this--

 

“Don’t worry,” Noctis reassures him, as he loiters in front of the door to Prompto’s place. They’re freshly showered, but Prompto can definitely see the telltale signs of what they’ve been up to. There are bruises peeking up over the collar of Noct’s shirt, and Prompto knows he’s got some too. They both have that blissed-out, thoroughly-fucked look to them, and it’s _painfully_ obvious.

 

“Don’t worry?” Prompto echoes back, rolling his eyes, and he tries to push all away the outright fear that’s working its way in, quick and fast. “I’m probably about to get arrested, once Iggy and Gladio take _one_ look at you, Noct--”

 

“--they’ll deal,” Noctis cuts him off, before Prompto’s voice can rise any higher, before he can descend any deeper into outright panic. “They _do_ technically have to serve me, ya know.”

 

“Your dad, you mean,” Prompto sighs, and he doesn’t even want to think about Noct’s father, the _king,_ catching wind of all of this. It’d been the best damn days of his life, yeah (though Noctis sets the bar pretty high on a daily basis, and Prompto’s horrendously in love, he can’t even deny it at this point), but Prompto’s pretty sure that being deep-fucked by the future king of the nation during his heat is… at the very least, an act of severe treason.

 

Noctis laughs softly, and he leans in. An arm hooks around Prompto’s waist, tugging him closer - and Prompto goes willingly, even without the omega instincts kicking him, telling him that his alpha is leading him - until they’re pressed flush together. There’s a little half-hearted surge of heat, despite Prompto being sore, exhausted, thoroughly sated, and fuck, he’s never going to get used to this.

 

“Stop worrying,” Noct reaffirms, his lips finding Prompto’s neck, pressing a kiss there, chasing the soft, wet heat with a rougher scrape of teeth. The touch makes Prompto’s knees go weak, makes him tremble and lift a hand to brace for balance on Noct’s shoulder. When he draws back, Noct’s eyes are narrowed, and there’s a resolve burning in every ounce of his being. “I want this, Prom. That’s all that matters, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Prompto echoes back, because that’s all he _can_ say. He wants it too, more than anything.

 

\---

 

Of course, it’s all easier said than done, and no matter _what_ Noctis wants, Prompto doesn’t get to see much of him over the next few weeks. He’s pretty sure that it’s the world paying them back for their irresponsibility. Or, rather, maybe it’s _Ignis_ paying him back--because Prompto doesn’t miss the long, lingering stare Ignis gives him, the next time he sees him.

 

He’s at Noct’s (because of course he is), and they’re on the couch playing video games. It’s a whole six days after he’s last had the opportunity to hang out with his best friend (lover? Partner? _boyfriend?)_ but it’s not like Prompto’s counting. It’s not like Noctis isn’t texting him nonstop during the meetings, training, homework study sessions, and everything else Ignis has filled his schedule with. And, of course, there’s the phone calls, late at night, that usually end with Prompto’s hand in his pants, fingers crooked deep inside himself as he pants out Noct’s name--

 

The door opens, and Prompto immediately _squeaks,_ because he’s snuggled up against Noct’s side as they frantically button-mash their way through an action game. He drops the controller in his panic, but Noctis barely glances up, that lazy disdain immediately washing over the prince.

 

“Hey, Iggy,” he says, without moving, and as Prompto shifts to lean away, Noctis leans in a little closer.

 

“Noctis,” Ignis replies, the door clicking behind him. And then. “... Prompto,” he adds, and Prompto can _hear_ the tension in the advisor’s voice, in his posture, as he takes in the sight of the two of them. Noct’s weight against him is comfortable, but still, Prompto shifts away a little more, putting what he deems to be an acceptable distance between them.

 

“Hi,” Prompto manages to say. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing, and there’s no way of denying exactly _what_ they’ve become. Even though it’s nothing more than some casual cuddling on the couch - something they’ve been doing since long before it became decidedly less innocent - he’s acting like a dumb, guilty teenager, caught in the act.

 

“Did you go through those reports I sent over?” Ignis asks Noctis, wasting no time in getting to business.

 

“Yep,” Noctis replies, without looking away from the screen. He’s still playing the game, at least, even if Prompto’s trembling hands have dropped the controller and it’s long-forgotten from his mind. “Did it when I got home.” He’s not lying, of course--Prompto had just offered up the tiniest bit of distraction, in the form of kisses along his jaw, over his collar, hands wandering over the distinct bulge in his standard issue school uniform pants, while his future king dutifully worked…

 

Prompto’s cheeks flush darker at the memory. He swears he sees Noct’s lips quirking up into a lazy smirk at the thought.

 

“Surely,” Ignis starts, “there’s _something_ more productive you could be doing than _this.”_

 

Prompto groans. “Maybe I should just go home,” he says, more to himself than anything else--though he _really_ doesn’t want to be in the middle of a confrontation between Noct and his advisor. He’s been there before, and it’s awkward as hell, plus the guilt is steadily building up in him. Most times, he forgets that Noctis is the crown prince to an entire damn nation, and situations like this are a stark reminder of just how in over his head he is. In these moments, Prompto’s very severely reminded that he’s _fucking_ said crown prince, and he might get deported from the whole damn country if he’s too overt about it--

 

“ _No,”_ Noctis says, in the exact moment Ignis says, “I’ll drive you.”

 

“Shove it, Ignis,” Noct replies irritably, and he finally pauses the game, putting the controller aside. “Prom’s fine here. I did all my school work, so lay off the _distraction_ argument. I know what this is really about.”

 

Prompto doesn’t miss the way Noctis bites the words out. He _certainly_ can’t miss the way an arm snakes around his waist, casual but _possessive,_ and oh, shit, is he about to be the actual cause of a fight here?

 

“It’s okay, Noct,” he mumbles, but Noctis gives him a _look -_ and it’s one that screams alpha, _his_ alpha, communicated directly to him as an omega. It’s a command, telling him to stay out of things. That’s a low move, totally unfair, totally against their usual dynamic (and yet, so intrinsic and good) and Prompto groans, shrinking down a little. Though, at the same time? His heart is hammering, the thought that his alpha is getting possessive over him way hotter than it should be.

 

“You’re being careless,” Ignis sighs. Prompto looks over his shoulder, and he feels bad for Ignis. He’s got a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temple, as if Noct’s the source of the world’s worst migraine. He probably _is._ “Noctis. We’ve _had_ this talk. I know it’s not easy, but you can’t exactly let your hormones go crazy--”

 

“It’s not _hormones,”_ Noctis interrupts. “Dude. Lay off the bullshit. Stop acting like I’m the scum of the earth, just ‘cuz of the alpha thing.”

 

Obviously, Prompto’s missed a good deal of conversations between the two. He remembers Ignis lecturing him in the car that one day, though, and suddenly, Prompto feels even _more_ guilt. They’ve exercised the absolute bare minimum of caution. Underneath the collar of his dress shirt, there’s bruises and bite marks. There are finger prints on his hips, and a strange, pleasantly full feeling in his belly--the knot he’d gotten from his heat carrying pleasantly forward, making everything easier.

 

Ignis sighs again, interrupting Prompto’s mess of thoughts. “I just _worry,_ Noctis. I know you two care for each other, don’t pretend that I’m being merely prejudiced.”

 

Noctis looks like he still wants to push it. Prompto’s head is spinning from the arguing, and--well, if Noct can play dirty, so can he, right? A hand gently lifts, squeezing Noct’s thigh, and Prompto’s eyes are pleading as he catches his best friend’s gaze. “Noct…” he murmurs, his voice soft, and now he’s not just Prompto. He’s Noct’s _omega,_ quietly asking him to step down. There’s a long moment of silence, tension still snapping thick in the air.

 

Finally, Noctis sighs as well, and settles back against the couch. “... it’s fine. We’re careful, Iggy, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Ignis echoes back, but Prompto feels the older boy’s eyes burning into the back of his head. He knows Ignis isn’t convinced, and his head hurts. The base of his neck, right at the junction of his shoulder, burns with the sudden desire to be _marked,_ claimed, so nobody can take Noctis away from him.

 

It’s unrealistic, but Prompto _wants_ it _._

 

_\---_

 

Inevitably, Prompto _is_ caught alone, and it’s not Ignis. He doesn’t even know how long it’s been. Time tends to blur, these days, and the only thing really distinct that happens, as the days tick by, is a strange, fluttering feeling in the back of Prompto’s mind, and a weird upswing of his appetite.

 

 It takes him by surprise, though later when he’ll look back on it, it really _shouldn’t._ It’s a day that Noctis has to head directly up to the citadel after school to attend a council meeting. He’s in a shitty mood all day, and Prompto knows it’s because Noctis hates the council with every ounce of his being.

 

Ignis picks him up, and Noct gives Prompto’s hand a quick squeeze before he slides into the sleek, black, government-issued vehicle. He watches the car drive away until it rounds a corner, and then he starts the walk back to his place, backpack slung over his shoulder.

 

Prompto’s not even out of the school parking lot, of course, before another vehicle pulls up.

 

“Hey,” a familiar, deeper voice says, and Prompto groans inwardly, though he hides it expertly with his usual sunny disposition and a bright smile.

 

“Hey, Gladio,” he replies.

 

“Want a drive?” Gladiolus, Noct’s shield and personal trainer, asks in a voice that’s casual. Prompto doesn’t miss the meaning behind the words, though, and he knows it’s not _really_ a question. Gladio hates driving, that’s no secret - even Prompto knows, after all, and he’s not exactly close to Gladiolus Amicitia - so he’s not just casually swinging by. Prompto is definitely getting in the car, like it or not, and it’s absolutely going to be an interrogation session. He _thinks_ it’s better than being lectured by Ignis, but then again, Gladio is like eight feet of pure muscle, and intimidating in a totally different kind of way.

 

“Sure,” Prompto says (what choice does he have?) and he hops into the vehicle.

 

He’s not at all surprised when Gladio turns the opposite direction of his place, either, at the end of the block. Prompto sighs and tips his head, not making eye contact, instead looking out the window. He’s always had a ridiculously overactive imagination, and there’s a moment where he wonders if just maybe Gladio’s going to murder him, has been tasked with eliminating the source of Noct’s distraction. Well, having his body dumped out in the desert is better than the alternative, of being forbidden from seeing Noctis…

 

“Thought you might wanna get some food,” Gladio comments, fingers drumming the wheel, breaking the silence.

 

“Okay,” Prompto agrees, and his stomach rumbles at the thought, because _yeah,_ food sounds amazing. He squirms a little in the seat. And then, because he has a big mouth and he can’t quite help it. “Ignis sent you, didn’t he?”

 

“Maybe,” Gladio barks a laugh. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. He hates driving, and Prompto knows it; he’d outright refused to help Noctis learn and forced that particular duty onto Ignis. It’s a bit ironic, really, that a man as big and imposing as Gladio can be such a nervous driver. “I can hand you over to him if you’d rather deal with Ignis yourself.”

 

Prompto doesn’t have to think long on that. “I’m good,” he says quickly. As much as he’s terrified of Gladio, he genuinely likes him. He’s less terrifying than Ignis, in any case.

 

Gladio waits until they’re seated in a noodle shop nearby, tucked away in a booth in the back corner, before he says anything, and Prompto’s grateful for that. It gives his nervous mind a bit of time to settle down, at least. This is absolutely going to be awful. Gladio is Noct’s sworn protector, and Prompto is probably -- in the shield’s mind, at least -- a direct threat to everything. A distraction. He wonders if it really _is_ treason, fucking the crown prince…

 

Prompto wants to think more on that, but his stomach is growling loudly. He’s been fucking _starving_ all the damn time lately. He’d eaten his own lunch and half of Noct’s, and it’s not even dinner time yet, and still, just the images on the damn menu have him practically drooling.

 

“How’s school?” Gladio asks, as he eyes his own menu. Prompto knows where this conversation is going. He appreciates that Gladio is blunt; it leaves nothing to intrigue, and it’s easier to deal with. It’s almost like dealing with _Noct,_ in some ways. Better than Ignis and his mind games, at least.

 

“Good,” Prompto says. He’s debating how many calories are in the large noodle bowl. He’s going to have to run extra far tomorrow.

 

“Ready for summer vacation?” Gladio grins, the smile totally disarming and casual, and Prompto can’t help but like the man. Damnit, _this_ is how Gladio’s going to go about this, isn’t it? He totally underestimated him.

 

“Totally ready,” he agrees. A hand drifts down, under the table, to rub over his belly. Prompto’s been doing that more often lately--his stomach has always been a point of contention, but recently, it’s been a comforting, instinctive sort of gesture. “... the weather is gonna suck, though. I hate running when it’s hot.”

 

“Hear ya there,” Gladio chuckles. He’s still not bringing up the subject, and Prompto wonders if that’s his tactic. It’s a good one, because Prompto sucks at keeping his mouth shut. He sucks even more at keeping secrets--but _this_ secret, it’s the most important one he’s ever had in his life.

 

They make their food orders and Prompto absolutely gets the large size. He doesn’t understand why the fuck he’s so damn hungry, but he’s not willing to have this conversation (whatever it is) with an empty stomach on top of everything.

 

Gladio’s a surprisingly good companion, too. Prompto knows damn well that Noct’s strong, that he undergoes rigorous training multiple times a week. His physique definitely shows it off, though Noctis carries it subtly. Prompto’s fingers have traced those defined muscles, and he’s seen the little bursts of magic that signify royal blood. Noctis doesn’t go into details, though. Gladio’s quick to offer up tips about his running, expresses actual _interest_ in it.

 

“You should add strength training,” he points out, and Prompto grins.

 

“You know how much a gym membership is, right? Not all of us get use of the royal facilities.”

 

Gladio shrugs, downing a sip of his drink. “Come with Noct, then. Ain’t nobody gonna say shit if you’re with princess.”

 

Prompto blinks, and flushes, reaching for his water. It feels hotter in the restaurant than usual--and he wonders if his embarrassment is really just flaring that heavily? “I thought the point of Ignis gettin’ you to lecture me is to _stop_ me from distracting Noct.”

 

Gladio shrugs again. His eyes pierce into Prompto’s, as he leans across the table a little. “I don’t bullshit, Prompto. Iggy’s got his heart in the right place, but… he babies Noct.” The words are blunt, and Prompto doesn’t quite expect them. He blinks owlishly in response.

 

“I know, not what you were expecting to hear,” Gladio laughs at his response. “.... you know how many people assume I’m an alpha? Just ‘cuz of how I look?”

 

Prompto blinks again, at the sudden shift in the conversation. _He,_ of course, knows that Gladio’s a beta. There’s no distinct scent, no instinctual _pull_ of attraction that he feels, on some low level, buzzing at the edges of his subconscious. He can see how a beta would assume that, though, without the obvious markers to go by. They don’t talk about it much, but to the average beta, it’s easy to make guesses, to make _assumptions,_ from what Prompto’s discovered.

 

“Probably a lot,” he admits, with a rueful laugh, playing with the straw of his drink. Prompto kinda hates the stereotypes. He’s pretty sure he’s the spitting image of a stereotypical omega, his features just a bit softer, a bit girlish, with wide hips, shorter and slimmer than most guys their age. But, then again, Noct’s not really much taller than him, and he _doesn’t_ fit the alpha stereotype much at all…

 

“Exactly,” Gladio grins. “It’s stupid. The things people assume. When Noct presented as an alpha…” he trails off for a moment, and Prompto’s suddenly _very_ interested. Ignis never reveals information like this. Noct definitely picks and chooses what bits of his past - or his personal life in general - that he wants to disclose.

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t say say any of this--” Gladio begins, but Prompto quickly shakes his head.

 

“I won’t tell Noct,” he says, though that’s probably a lie, and they both know it. Like Prompto knows how to keep _anything_ secret from his best friend.

 

“Yes you will,” Gladio laughs. “It’s fine, though. If it helps.” He pauses again - another sip of his drink - and leans back in the booth. “I think Ignis feels like he’s going to lose Noct. The stereotypes are… well, they’re as shitty as any other stereotype. People talk about alphas losing themselves to instinct. Getting carried away. Omegas are _sluts.”_

 

Prompto winces at the word, and instinctively, his hand is running over his belly again.

 

“Sorry, fuck,” Gladio says immediately, perceiving the way Prompto’s eyes lower, the way he shifts. “See, exactly. It hurts, even though it’s not true.”

 

Prompto doesn’t know where this conversation is going. His mind’s racing. He _is_ a slut, at least on some level, even if it’s purely for Noctis. He hates himself a little bit, because his hormones have absolutely been getting the better of him. They’ve made mistakes. They’re talking about how they’ve been _safe,_ but have they really been? All his thoughts are of Noctis; he lives, breathes, for his _prince,_ his alpha, and--how the hell does he go from here?

 

“Ignis got the shit deal of the bargain out of all this,” Gladio says quietly, leaning forward. “Yeah, my life’s been tied to Noct’s, too, but I’ve got my dad, Iris… Ignis doesn’t have anyone else. He’s worried about Noctis, and he doesn’t have any other outlet for that.”

 

Prompto feels the wave of guilt rushing over him again. He squirms in his seat, and he doesn’t know what to say. The food arrives, thankfully, in that moment, and he distracts himself by digging in. His stomach is angry, painfully hungry, and he doesn’t know what _that_ means, either.

 

“I’m not trying to steal Noct away,” Prompto says quickly. He doesn’t know if that’s _true,_ exactly. He wishes he could pull Noctis away from all that responsibility, from the weight of the crown, from the harsh reality of his destiny. He isn’t trying to take him away from his friends, though. Ignis and Gladio might not be _traditional_ friends, they might be tied to their fates the same way Noctis is, but he… appreciates that they care about Noctis. Even though they’re both scary as hell.

 

“I know,” Gladio agrees. “... you gotta be careful, though, or else you’re _going_ to, intentionally or not.”

 

 _Careful_. That word again. That word carries weight. Prompto shifts uncomfortably again. He’s eating way too much, and he knows it, gulping down more food. “I _am_ careful,” he insists. He isn’t, of course, and the guilt is weighing him down, because they’ve been horrendously irresponsible, and Prompto knows it. The more he thinks on it, the more he knows it, and the worse he feels. He _wants_ to keep being irresponsible, and he’s caught in an awful loop.

 

Gladio must know it, too, because he’s staring Prompto down suspiciously. “... you know how much I had to fight with Iggy to keep him from marching right over to your place and prying Noct off you?”

 

Prompto flushes brightly. “I wasn’t -- we weren’t--” he tries to insist, in total vain. He knows his cheeks are bright red, though, and he knows how utterly unconvincing his plea is.

 

Gladio laughs. “Shove it, Prompto. Yes you were. It’s obvious.” He gestures at his neck- Prompto knows there’s some bruises peeking up over his collar - and shakes his head, with a laugh. “... kids will be kids. It’s fine. Noctis… needs some fun, before he has to step up and take the crown. Just… don’t get too attached, huh?” He pauses, awkwardly poking at his own food, and Prompto has a horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, yet again. He _knows_ what’s coming.

 

“You uh, you’ve been to a doctor, right? You’re on…” Gladio gestures vaguely, his voice going gruff, and Prompto sinks down in his seat, absolutely _mortified._ “... medication, yeah?”

 

“I. Uh. Y-yeah,” Prompto stutters. He _isn’t,_ but like hell he’s about to admit that to a man who could outright beat the shit out of him. If the gods were merciful, they’d strike him down on the spot, so he didn’t have to suffer through this conversation anymore. The only benefit to all this is that Prompto’s pretty sure it’s _still_ better than talking this over with Ignis.

 

Gladio gives him a long, searching look, and Prompto hopes he doesn’t look as guilty as he feels.

 

“... okay,” the shield says finally, after a long moment, though he sounds skeptical. “I hope you know how much fuckin’ trouble everyone would be in, if you don’t have your shit in order.”

 

Trouble. Prompto knows. It won’t happen, though, he tells himself resolutely. It’s _impossible,_ and yeah, maybe he’s been quietly fantasizing about it, maybe he’s outright gotten off on feeling Noct’s seed dripping from his spent body and running down his thighs, but they’d been careful during his heat, right? That’s what’s important. His instincts are screaming otherwise, his hand’s drifting over his belly again, but--the logical part of his mind is repeating, over and over again, that they’d done everything they could. He can go to a doctor.

 

(It’s not a lie, right? As long as he does it before his next heat?)

 

“Don’t worry,” Prompto says, and he manages to scrounge up some confidence. He can’t confess to Gladio that all he wants is to be irresponsible, to let loose, to stand at Noct’s side forever, to bear his heirs and let their bloodlines intermingle for the rest of eternity. They’d never let this continue on, if they knew, and Gladio’s words had been kind enough, but they’ve got that distinct hint of _this is temporary_ hanging that Prompto hasn’t missed.

 

“We’re careful. I _know_ Noct’s the future king. Kinda hard to forget,” Prompto grins. And then, leaning forward a little, he realizes that he’s managed to eat his _entire_ giant bowl of food. Gladio’s only half through his, and Prompto’s stomach growls again as he eyes it. “... hey, you gonna eat all that?”

 

Gladio blinks, and gives him a suspicious look. It’s one that’s long, lingering, maybe a brief brush of _concern_ mixed with vague horror crossing his face, but then he pushes his own food across the table. “All yours.” Prompto has _no_ idea what’s up with his appetite lately, but whatever. At least, for now, nobody’s going to stop him from seeing Noctis. He’ll ignore the ominous implications, because it’s so much easier.

 

“Thanks, Gladio,” he grins, as he digs in, sighing happily, his raging appetite sated for the moment. “... and thanks, for making it mostly-not-weird.”

 

Gladio rolls his eyes. “Just make sure we don’t have to have this talk again, huh?”

 

Prompto nods. “Agreed, dude. Agreed."

 

He really has _no_ idea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i guess i eventually needed a non-smutty chapter to start setting things up, and this was it.
> 
> wonder what's up with prompto's raging appetite 8) strange huh. poor boy~~ <3 
> 
> next chapter will have porn again, and increasingly panicky pupu, and i promise it won't be a month!! and yes, you cute anons who mentioned me on FFA are the ones who gave me the swift kick to the ass to finally update lmao. 
> 
> thanks for waiting for my slow ass to update!! as always, i love you guys and your comments/kudos/screaming. come scream at me on twitter @thatdest as well if you want! I love to hear from everyone <3 <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Being responsible is totally overrated,” Noctis teases, but he takes a step back, and his eyes stay locked on Prompto’s as he steps backwards across his tiny bedroom, settling down at the edge of the bed. Noct’s fingers idly tug at his loosened tie, and Prompto shivers his anticipation. He can feel the tension between them - and it’s stronger, more intimate that it has any right to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm back again

Prompto sits on it for a few days.

 

He _knows_ he should make the right decision. He really, really doesn’t want to have another weird conversation with Gladio Amicitia. He _especially_ doesn’t want to get escalated to having the talk with Ignis, because that’ll be a thousand times worse.

 

Somehow, though, the idea of making a doctor’s appointment, of actually _telling_ someone that he’s sexually active, that he needs birth control, is absolutely terrifying. It’s not like Prompto’s parents are around much, but what if they find out? He doesn’t want to go alone. He’s pretty sure Noctis would go along, but… that’s weird, isn’t it? Showing up for an appointment with the future King of Lucis in tow? It totally goes against the whole point of discretion.

 

Prompto hates this. He’s picked up his phone more than once. He doesn’t like doctors – he _especially_ doesn’t like needles – and he doesn’t want anyone touching him who isn’t Noctis. He’s a mess. What if Gladio and Ignis are _talking_ about him? What if they’re not convinced? What if he’s royally fucked up? What if, what if, _what if?_

What if – and this is the worst part of all – he doesn’t _want_ to go on birth control? The weird side effects already make him uneasy. Prompto finds that the more he thinks about it, the deeper into despair he falls, going down internet rabbit holes and reading about things like weight gain (nope, he’s not doing _that_ again), lowered sex drive, skin problems… he’s already a mess of self-esteem issues.

 

And, of course, the root of the problem, he thinks, curled up in bed late at night, a hand sliding protectively over his belly, is that he _wants_ to be filled up with Noctis. He wants that risk, he wants that thrill of arousal, knowing that his body is willing, fertile and ready for his alpha’s seed. That’s impossible, of course. Male omegas rarely get knocked up – which makes the whole argument moot in the first place -- and even if Prompto was one of the rare ones, it all comes back to the whole _Noctis is the future king of the entire damn nation_ thing, and that’s an impossible barrier to overcome.

 

Still, Prompto shifts as he thinks about it. His thighs slide together, and he feels the initial swell of warmth in the pit of his stomach at the idea of being round and full. He swears, his belly has been just a little _tender_ lately, and it’s probably because of his ridiculous appetite. There’s the fear that he’ll get fat, but he’s been working out extra hard, running longer, to offset it. Maybe it’s a weird side effect of spending so much time with Noctis, his body in overdrive thanks to the presence of _alpha._

 

He can’t help it. Prompto imagines having Noct’s heir inside of him. He thinks about how Noctis would look at him with smoldering eyes, thinks of how _good_ it’d feel to be entirely devoted to his king, and there’s a trickle of wet down his thighs—

 

Suddenly, the idea of doctor’s appointments, of responsibility, of making Gladio and Ignis proud, of doing things right, it’s the last thing on Prompto’s mind, because he’s sliding a hand in his shorts, curling it around his cock instead, and nothing else matters.

 

\---

 

Prompto decides they’re going to talk about it, _finally._ His morning run had been absolutely brutal. He’d only done seven miles – nothing for him, honestly – and yet his legs had burned with the exertion, it’d been harder to breathe, and he really just wishes he’d stayed in bed. And through the whole thing, the mantra repeats in his head. Prompto needs to get over himself. He shouldn’t be _doing_ this. He needs to be responsible. They can’t risk another heat cycle like this, and he knows it. Despite his fantasies, they can’t _ever_ be a reality.

 

So, he shows up for school with a determined, steely look in his eyes.

 

And then, of course, he’s hit dead-on with an irritable, grumbling alpha.

 

Noctis smells _good_ today, and it makes Prompto’s stomach flip. He always smells good, but it’s intense today, as if the signature scent of alpha is hardwired to a weird part of Prompto’s brain. It makes him feel just a _little_ bit dizzy, his hands gripping at the edges of his desk as he leans casually over his best friend’s desk during their first break.

 

“Hey,” Prompto tries to say, as casually as he can, even though he can see the tension in his best friend’s shoulders. It’s all subtle—the way Noctis carries himself, the stiffness that’s gathered at the base of his neck, the way he’s just slightly hunched, his posture a bit more defeated than usual. “... Noct. What’s wrong?”

 

“Hey,” Noctis tips his head, and his eyes narrow just a little as he glances up at Prompto. “Didn’t sleep well. Tired,” he confesses, lips curling into the faintest of smiles. It’s casual banter, but Prompto doesn’t miss the way Noctis relaxes just a _little_ at his presence, or the way, suddenly, there’s instinct clamoring in his mind that he should crawl into Noct’s lap, that he should kiss away all that stress and fear and simply _comfort_ his alpha.

 

(His alpha. Fuck. Noctis isn’t _his,_ he needs to remind himself.)

 

“You? Not sleeping? What the hell, Noct,” Prompto replies, instead. “You wanna talk about it?”

 

Noctis shakes his head, then glances around, ensuring that nobody’s too close by. It’s common knowledge that the crown prince and his bubbly best friend are attached at the hip, and people have long stopped paying any attention to them.

 

“... just. Hormones,” Noctis explains, in a hushed voice. And. _Oh._

 

Something slides into place in Prompto’s mind, because _of course._ That explains the weird restlessness. It explains, too, why Prompto’s been feeling out of sorts. It’d make sense, right, that he can feel Noct’s body calling out to his? He’s on the verge of his rut, and fuck, has time really flown by that fast? Has it really been a damn month?

 

“... I can, y’know, come over. If you want,” Prompto suggests, quietly, his eyes narrowing, as the surge of pure _heat_ courses through his body. It’s immediate, the way he feels flushed, superheated to the very core, all that instinct roaring to life within him. It also explains why Noct smells so _good,_ probably explains why he’s been so hungry and restless and _weird._

 

Noct’s expression is indiscernible for a moment. “You sure you _want_ to?” he asks, voice as hushed as he can manage.

 

Prompto’s fingers tighten at the edge of Noct’s desk, because he has to physically hold on to _something_ to keep grounded, to keep from outright throwing himself at Noctis. There’s the overwhelming urge to pepper the alpha with kisses, to fall to his knees and take some of the edge off right here and now, and _fuck,_ he wants to be good for Noctis.

 

“You took care of me, right?” he says, instead, keeping his voice casual, but low. “Besides. You _really_ think you could resist me?”

 

Noct’s lips quirk into a smile. “Can I _ever_ resist you?”

 

It’s a tease, but it takes Prompto a little bit by surprise. Head tipped to the side, vivid eyes narrowed, Prompto regards his best friend for a long moment. “I dunno, buddy, you did a pretty good job resisting me for like, what, three years?”

 

“More like _you’ve_ been oblivious for all these years,” Noctis shoots back, and Prompto flushes. The pulsing warmth that’s working biological magic on his body shifts into something _softer,_ something that goes straight to his chest and makes his heart pound against his ribcage.

 

“Gettin’ soft on me Noct,” Prompto chooses to say, after a moment’s silence. The bell rings, and around them, students begin filtering back to their seats. It’s probably for the best, because Noct’s gaze is locked on his, and it feels like the alpha is going to outright _devour_ him if he gets the chance, if this banter continues for a damn moment longer.

 

“See you after school?” Prompto asks, as he straightens and turns to return to his desk.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis replies, noncommittally enough. He doesn’t need to say anything more. Prompto can fucking _feel_ Noct’s instincts screeching silently between them. Prompto can feel his own body responding, and he spends the rest of the day squirming a little in his seat, hoping that there’s no distinct betrayal of a wet spot in the back of his uniform pants.

 

And just like that - all thoughts of what he _should_ be talking to Noctis about are gone, despite all of Prompto’s best intentions. As usual.

 

\---

 

By the time they make it back to his place - because neither of them want Ignis or Gladio to disturb them - they’re both going a little crazy.

 

Maybe Prompto should stop and consider the fact that he _shouldn’t_ be responding to Noct’s rut as strongly as he is. They aren’t a bonded pair - and oh, he’s reminded of that way too often, with how his fingers tend to wander to rub at the junction of neck and shoulder - and there’s no reason for his body to be so desperate. He can _feel_ the other’s impatience, though, and it’s absolute fire burning through the omega’s body as well.

 

Prompto’s clothes feel too tight, hot and uncomfortable even though it’s a cool day. Noct’s been fussing with his tie the entire walk back, until it’s hanging loose and wrinkled around his neck. The top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, and Prompto can’t stop staring at that tantalizing sliver of exposed skin. Their banter is casual, normal, and they’ve been doing their best to tamper down all the obvious _affection_ between them. It’s all a hot, livewire, running directly under the surface.

 

The moment Prompto’s bedroom door slams shut, though, Noct’s spinning them around, pressing Prompto roughly up against the frame. A hand braces heavily against the wood, the other settles heavy and rough on his hip, and their lips meet in a frantic, messy kiss. It’s a _desperate_ one, with Noct’s teeth tugging at Prompto’s lower lip, with saliva smearing between them and both of their hearts hammering.

 

Prompto knows he shouldn’t respond as strongly as he does - but Noct’s _scent_ is so good, and his whole body screams for an alpha, _his_ alpha, and fuck, he’s already wet. He can already feel the slick beginning to wet his thighs, his underwear’s gotta be already ruined --

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto whines. His fingers dig into the alpha’s shoulders, giving him a little push backwards, the kiss parting between them. “Slow down. Dude.”

 

The words take Noct by surprise, a little, and it’s obvious he’s _already_ thinking with his dick. Noct’s eyes are all violet energy, sparkling with emotion, heavy arousal, and a surge of outright magic, and it makes Prompto swallow heavily. It makes his body scream for _more._ He gets the idle, distinct feeling that they’re both way in over their heads.

 

“... too much?” Noctis laughs breathlessly, and he can’t help but lean in to steal a fresh line of kisses, peppering them over Prompto’s jaw. The hot wash of breath, the softness of his lips across Prompto’s sensitive skin, the _possessiveness_ of the act-- it all makes the omega shudder.

 

“Not too much,” Prompto sighs. His cock is stirring and pressing needily against his pants. Noct’s pressed up against him, and Prompto can feel the _full_ length of his thick, alpha cock nudging into his upper thigh. It’s hot as hell, and already all those submissive omega instincts leave him breathless, leave Prompto a little desperate to kneel before his alpha, to let Noct fuck his face, to get properly on his hands and knees and be mounted roughly --

 

“Just. Condoms. Water. Snacks,” Prompto points out, as Noct’s hips rut forward, as his cock grinds into Prompto’s thigh, making them _both_ groan. “Y’know. Being responsible ‘n stuff.”

 

Noctis groans. Neither of them _really_ want to be responsible, but Gladio’s conversation is still weighing heavily on Prompto’s mind - even as the soft, warm haze of sex is starting to distract him from all the finer points of this whole ordeal. His body is soft and trembling, so _submissive._ It’s almost terrifying, Prompto coming to yet another revelation about himself, about just how _willing_ he really is in Noct’s hands.

 

“Being responsible is totally overrated,” Noctis teases, but he takes a step back, and his eyes stay locked on Prompto’s as he steps backwards across his tiny bedroom, settling down at the edge of the bed. Noct’s fingers idly tug at his loosened tie, and Prompto shivers his anticipation. He can feel the tension between them - and it’s stronger, more intimate that it has _any_ right to be.

 

“Being responsible means your babysitters leave us alone and let us have our fun,” Prompto replies lightly. Noctis rolls his eyes and flips him off, but when Prompto returns with an armful of supplies - and a fresh box of condoms, because the anonymity of ordering them online definitely beats going through the drugstore self-checkout - he’s pleased to see that Noct’s sprawled out on the bed, waiting for him.

 

It’s unfair how _gorgeous_ Noctis is. Prompto can’t help the lopsided smile that flutters across his face, or the way his heart thumps madly in his chest as admires his best friend. The crown prince of Lucis is sprawled across his bed. Noct’s shirt’s been shrugged off, and his pants have followed, and his underwear’s absolutely leaving _nothing_ to the imagination, with how worked up he is.

 

Suddenly, Prompto’s aware he’s wearing entirely too much. His fingers work at the buttons of his dress shirt, but suddenly, Noct’s shifting - a fluid motion, blurred with an outline of magic, as Noctis fucking _warps_ into him - and pulling him down onto the bed in a sprawling mess.

 

“Did you…?” Prompto’s voice is incredulous, but instead, he’s being kissed by his alpha, hot lips interspersed with possessive little nips, and it’s hard to care about anything else. Instead, he wraps his arms around Noct’s neck, leans in and returns the kisses. There’s desperation building between them, Noct’s thick cock rutting into his hip now, and Prompto outright groans as his own erection is caught between them.

 

“Need you,” Noctis mumbles in response. There’s saliva hanging between them, a thick line of drool connecting their lips. That should be gross, but when Noct’s around, the line between _gross_ and _unbelievably attractive_ is pretty much nonexistent. Prompto laughs, gives a playful little shove to his best friend’s shoulder, and doesn’t complain when Noct’s fingers start to work at his shirt.

 

“That’s just the rut talking, idiot,” he teases lightly, and Prompto knows, in part, that he needs to get all the banter in _now._ All of his being is clamoring to please, to become limp and pliant under his alpha, like an intrinsic part of him simply _belongs_ to Noctis now. The implications of that are terrifying.

 

Noctis tips his head, the lazy smile spreading across his face is accompanied by a warmth that spreads through Prompto’s chest as well. Fuck, he’s in _love_ with Noct, fully and entirely, and moments like these keep sneaking in - they keep reminding Prompto that it’s not just about hormones, that it’s more than the cycles of their heats and ruts that keeps him staying at Noct’s side. It’s more dangerous than any of that.

 

“... ‘s not just the rut. You know that,” Noctis mumbles, and then he goes in for another kiss. Prompto’s _thankful_ for that, because he’s not ready to talk about it. He’s not ready to tell Noctis that he’s his, truly and fully, that his neck is aching to be marked. It’s throbbing in time with his racing pulse, that spot right at the junction of his shoulder is little pinpricks of sheer _need._

 

Noct can mark him, fill him up, put a royal heir in him--and Prompto will be his omega. He’ll be _his,_ he’ll sit at Noct’s side, kneel by his throne and plead his undying revarance and loyalty, and he’d die happy doing it.

 

Fuck, he’s deep.

 

“... shut up and fuck me, weirdo,” Prompto gasps, when Noct’s hands slide his shirt off his chest. The alpha’s fingers are surprisingly steady as they work at his pants next. Prompto’s own grip is shaky, his fingers trembling - with need, more than nerves - and every touch fire as he works Noct’s underwear down his hips.

 

“Fuck, _Prom,”_ Noct’s responding moan is hot against his skin, as the alpha ducks his head down. The words vibrate against Prompto’s neck, and that’s a fresh surge of _want,_ the feeling of Noct’s lips so close - it’d be so easy for his alpha to shift his face, to press right into that _spot,_ to sink his teeth in and _claim --_

 

Prompto’s damn near writhing against Noct with the fantasy. Noct’s cock is bare between them, and already, he’s so fucking _hard._ Prompto can feel the heavy bob of Noct’s erection every time he shifts, and there’s a wet smear of precome across both their bellies, with how wet the engorged tip is. It makes Prompto’s body _scream_ for it, to be mated, bred, filled up - he’s falling deeper into himself, getting lost in the fantasy.

 

And, hell, Prompto’s doing nothing to keep himself grounded in reality, as much as he knows he should.

 

His own underwear comes down, and Prompto’s shameless by now. He doesn’t care how _wet_ he is, the fabric messy and clinging to his thighs as Noct tugs it off. Prompto’s thighs part easily, and his own cock is full and heavy against the mostly-flat delta of his belly. There’s slick _everywhere,_ on his thighs, wetting the curve of his ass, and now that they’re both exposed, naked, their combined scent hangs heavy in the air. There’s the soft, almost _sweet_ scent that Prompto recognizes as his own - but it’s laced with something darker, spicier, the undeniable scent of _rutting alpha_ that’s so good on Noct.

 

“I’m yours,” Prompto murmurs, when their eyes meet, and he falls in love _all_ over again. Maybe he doesn’t need to say it - but there’s a silent questioning in Noct’s eyes, and Prompto wants him to know. _Anything,_ Noctis wants, anything that his alpha needs, he’ll gladly offer.

 

“Mine,” Noctis agrees, quietly, pressing his lips to his jaw. Then, harsher, heavier, he says it again, “mine,” and Prompto outright _moans_ when Noct’s teeth sink in, lips hot and heavy as they work over his neck enough to leave a mark.

 

It’s not the type of mark that Prompto _wants -_ it’s not enough to bind them together, to properly let Noct claim him, but fuck, it’s hardwired to that ache of arousal within him anyway. The noise Prompto makes is obscene, _,_ lifting his hips and grinding into the thick length of Noct’s cock. He can already feel the base starting to flare, the knot beginning to fill out, and Noct isn’t even inside him yet.

 

When Noct’s hands settle heavily on his hips, Prompto lifts up in response. It’s easy for the alpha to shift him around - he goes so willingly - and it’s only when his face is pressed into a pillow, knees planted on the bed and ass lifting _high,_ that Prompto loses it.

 

He’s always such a goddamn embarrassment, and he can’t _help_ it. Noctis does things to him, and it’s becoming harder and harder to hold on, when his alpha’s hands on are on him, when the air becomes thick with need and their mingling scents.

 

“Noct,” he whines, “fuck, please, I _need_ you--”

 

“Patience,” Noctis growls back, but there’s a hand settling over the curve of his ass already, hot and heavy, fingers digging in just enough to be the desperate little teasing bite of pain that he’s craving. It’s not enough, _not enough,_ but Prompto whines anyway and presses back. He can feel a fresh trickle of slick wetting his thighs, and he knows his ass looks good like this - on display, round and perky and outright _shining_ with his fucking need. He’s seen enough porn to know.

 

“Fuck,” Noctis groans, as Prompto wiggles his hips again, “fuck, Prom. How the hell did I end up with you?”

 

Prompto doesn’t quite have the words to respond. He _wants_ to say a lot of things. He wants to tell Noct that he _is_ his, that he’ll dedicate his life to him. He’ll lay down at his feet and dedicate himself to his king, to the crown, to the royal bloodline, for all of his life. He wants to beg to be marked, claimed, to have Noct’s teeth in his neck, to have Noct’s babies in his belly--

 

But, instead, there’s a shift - a crinkle of the condom - and then, suddenly, Noct’s _inside_ of him.

 

It’s a deep, rough thrust, one that tears him open and makes Prompto moan and gasp out in a way that’s outright _slutty._ It’s filthy, his back arching and his fingers digging into the mattress, and for a moment, Prompto’s riding a very thin line between pleasure and pain. Noct’s _big,_ and his already thick cock is swollen even further thanks to his rut. But oh--Prompto’s body adjusts fast, and he’s even _wetter._

 

“Noct, _fuck,”_ Prompto gasps, and then, “ _alpha, please.”_

 

“You look so good like this,” Noct replies, and then he drapes himself over Prompto’s body, a hand heavily braced on the bed next to him, the other on his hips, holding him tilted up and spread wide and open around his cock. And _then,_ he’s moving, and words lose all meaning.

 

Prompto’s pretty sure that he keeps running his mouth. He’s quite certain it’s all gibberish, a lot of _please,_ and _Noct,_ begging the other’s name. His whole body is burning up. He’s sweating, arousal pulsing in thick, heavy waves as Noctis drags his hips back, nearly withdrawing from him completely, only to slam back in with deep, rough thrusts that bury all the way inside of him. That thick knot catches, works against Prompto’s already stretched entrance, and the _burn_ feels amazing. The pain is just right.

 

“You’re perfect, fuck, Prom, you’re my omega,” Noctis hisses in his ear, and it’s only his instinctive alpha strength holding them upright, that hand on his hip unyielding, fingertips sinking in hard enough to bruise. Prompto keens his response - and somewhere between deep, steady thrusts, he’s snapping his head back, he’s trying to nuzzle into Noctis from behind. The expanse of his throat - the dips and curves, the smooth lines of jaw, the ridge of his collarbone, the _most_ enticing place where shoulder connects with his neck, it’s all on display.

 

“... Noct, please, I want it,” Prompto gasps. He’s achingly hard, and Noct’s fucking into him hard enough that it’s dragging the leaking, swollen head of his cock right over the blankets with every thrust. The extra friction is driving him insane - and his alpha _knows_ how to fuck him. Noct’s cock is driving into his prostate, and Prompto’s whole body feels alive. He’s surging with instincts, with hormones, and it’s all so intense. It’s more than he’s ever felt - somehow, it’s more desperate than his heat had been.

 

There’s a deep, burning need to be _filled,_ to be claimed. Prompto can feel his fucking soul reaching out, can feel Noctis in the edges of his mind, and it’s so close…

 

“Please, please, I wanna be claimed,” Prompto gasps. His spine snaps further back, he ruts his ass into Noct’s cock, and _then,_ with a sudden flare of pain, a burning sensation that races down his spine and pulses heavily through his whole body, from his heartbeat to the very tips of tingling fingers, Noct’s knot pushes into him. It’s too big, it hurts _so_ much-- and the ghost of pain on his shoulder from Noct’s teeth sinking in, suddenly, has Prompto going limp.

 

He’s limp, pliant and desperate, and the world _explodes_ at the same time. Prompto’s gasping, he’s crying out, and he’s coming utterly untouched, his cock spurting the mess of his release onto the blankets as his body stretches taut around Noct’s knot. Teeth scrape over his shoulder but - Prompto realizes, in a panic - it’s not enough to break the skin, not enough to claim. Only enough to sate the desire enough, to turn it from unbearable into an incessant need.

 

“Noct,” Prompto gasps, “please, alpha, _mine--”_

 

“Mine,” Noctis echoes back, and his voice is all hot breath, another scrape of teeth that isn’t nearly painful enough. They’re locked together with how swollen Noct’s knot is, and each thrust is a desperate rocking motion, one that borders on painful as Prompto feels his rim being tugged, His body is so hot though, burning up, and he’s overstimulated, his softening erection never quite going down as it’s dragged relentlessly against the sheets. He’s _crying,_ and Prompto doesn’t know if his eyes are wet from desire, from desperation, because he needs a break or because he _never_ wants it to stop--

 

Noct’s fingers tighten into his hips, there’s a particularly _rough_ thrust, one that has the alpha buried as deep as he can go, and then Prompto feels the gush of warmth, feels Noct’s come bursting within him, filling him up--and, suddenly, the alpha’s strength gives out momentarily. They go down together in a collapsed mess on the bed, Noct’s trembling, shivering body sweaty and heavy over his.

 

He’s being half-crushed, but Prompto doesn’t care. He’s half-hard again already, shaking violently, and the omega instincts are building once more. _Alpha in heat,_ his body cries out, and Prompto wants nothing more than to please.

 

“... fuck,” Noctis laughs breathlessly against his shoulder. He kisses the spot he’d bitten - and Prompto can’t help the soft noise he makes. It’s a reminder, they’d gotten so _close._

 

“Thought you wore a condom,” Prompto mumbles idly. They’re still locked together - and they will be for a while, Noct’s knot isn’t going down any time soon - but Noct seems to gather his thoughts enough to roll onto his side, to shift them and tug Prompto with him.

 

“.. I did,” Noctis groans the confession. He slips a hand down between them, traces over Prompto’s tightly-stretched rim, and they _both_ shudder at the sensation. Prompto can _feel_ Noct’s release inside of him, can feel it slipping out around their connected bodies, he’s so full. There’s a pulse of that thick alpha cock, and another fresh wave of heat that he fucking loves.

 

“Must’ve broken,” Noctis can’t help but laugh a little, though. They shouldn’t _laugh,_ especially with Prompto’s mind so freshly concerned with being safe, but… there’s something to say, about Noct’s rut being bad enough, his _need_ strong enough, that nothing could put up barriers between them. Prompto’s stupid, in-love, hormone-driven mind thinks that’s the best metaphor in the whole world for this mess of a relationship, and it’s not like Noct’s gonna disagree on that front.

 

Besides, it’s not like Prompto’s in heat. It’s not like it’s dangerous.

 

“I want you to…” Prompto mumbles, and he bows his head, presents the back of his neck for Noct. He wants everything. He wants to be claimed he _wants_ to be knocked up, he wants to be so full of Noct that there’s no distinct place where one ends and the other begins. He flushes bright - and he knows it’s because he’s high on sex, high on the endorphins and the presence of _alpha,_ because fuck, he’d never have the guts to say it in otherwise.

 

Noct’s breath catches, and then strong arms curl tighter around him, pulling Prompto’s trembling body back into that gorgeous alpha chest. “... Prom,” Noctis groans, “... we can’t talk about this. Not _now.”_

 

Prompto tries not to hurt from the rejection, but there’s a distinct ache in his chest - and it’s followed by a pulse of need, a distinct ache between his thighs, because Noct’s rocking his hips forward again. His cock is still thick, still _full,_ and Prompto realizes, suddenly, that he’s in for a hell of a night.

 

“Yeah, okay, forget it,” he mumbles, and the words are punctuated by a gasp, a quiet moan. One of Noct’s hands slips from his hip to slide over his belly, and it’s _fire_ burning through him. Prompto’s eyes slide shut, and he’s the one moving now, lifting his hips and pressing _forward_ into Noct’s hand, then back on his cock. He can feel his belly growing larger-- can imagine scarred bite marks on his neck, can practically _feel_ the surge of a soulbond between them.

 

“We can… talk later,” Noctis groans, though, “just, fuck, please, don’t-- not while I’m rutting, it’s hard enough to resist you--”

 

Prompto wishes he was a bad enough person to beg anyway, to press his neck back against those lips and beg until Noctis gives in, but fuck, he can’t. So he grips at the sheets, and he rocks back on that thick alpha cock, and he lets Noctis fill him again and again. He’s _good--_ as good as he can be.

 

Later, the guilt will sink back in, because they were supposed to talk about other things, and instead he’s dripping Noct’s seed, sated and panting, and they only take a break when Prompto’s appetite gets ravenous enough that he has to. They should talk, and they don’t.

 

They will after, Prompto tells himself, and it’s as he’s frantically downing his third protein bar and draining an entire bottle of water, that he feels the first weird, spiking wave of dizzying nausea. It doesn’t last long - and he chalks it up to being dehydrated and exhausted - but it’s… worrisome. Luckily, Noctis pulls him back into his lap and pushes inside of him, and they lose themselves in each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suck at updating, goddamnit. luckily we're getting to the real gross shit soon, and then my time will shine. i really, really want to write preggo lactating subspace prompto, ok? this is the true end goal of this fic. 
> 
> writing the passage of time sucks, go easy on me with biological specifics, we're about to dive headfirst into the FUN. 
> 
> as always: i'm on twitter @thatdest , though i rarely have have time for anything online these days :( can life slow down? AND, AS ALWAYS, I LOVE COMMENTS/KUDOS SO FUCKING MUCH, you guys are the reason i keep writing my nasty fic, i just thrive on the knowledge that others are as gross and shameless as me. so please scream at me more!
> 
> prompto's gonna have a bad time next chapter, see you then :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denial is a powerful thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm back from the war did u miss me? <3

It’s that time of year when Noctis is just increasingly busy. And even Prompto himself is busy, despite his relatively relaxed life, in comparison to the future king’s. They’re both absolutely swamped in school work. Prompto’s parents are actually _home_ for the couple of weeks of their lives where they make a half-assed effort to be involved in his life. It’s long past the point of no return _there,_ though, where Prompto’s concerned.

 

But, of course, it means awkward family dinners for a week or so before they take off globe-trotting again and leave him to himself.

 

(And, naturally, he’s felt his mother’s eyes on him and even if she doesn’t _comment_ on how much he’s eating, Prompto can tell it’s what she’s thinking. He can’t curb the insane appetite, though, and he tries to spend more time running, more time at the gym, but that’s getting increasingly hard.)

 

Prompto _misses_ Noctis.  He always does when they don’t have enough time together, but it’s stronger now. It’s frantic – an incessant pounding in his chest. Sometimes, when he closes his eyes and curls up in the sheets, he swears he can feel a second heartbeat racing alongside his own. It’s _weird._

 

They didn’t bond. Prompto _knows_ that, just like he intrinsically knows that he’s in way over his head. He’d come out of Noct’s rut – the last time they’d spent _real_ time together – covered in bruises. There’d been a myriad of spectacular hickeys blossoming on his neck, his throat, his shoulders, his jaw. Fingerprints deeply embedded into the jut of his hips. Noct’s _possessiveness_ had absolutely painted his pale skin deep purples and blues and Prompto fucking loved it.

 

It’d sucked, artfully covering up the marks with a deep layer of concealer the next morning. But still, his skin had been unbroken. The glands at his neck are unmarked, and Prompto _hates_ it.

 

So, why the hell does he feel Noct’s presence ghosting in his veins? Desperation, maybe?

 

Prompto whines, and he tosses and turns every single night that he and Noct are apart. The breaks between class aren’t enough – and their public image needs to be tailored. An arm flung over his shoulder or a gentle squeeze of fingers against his hip aren’t nearly enough contact. Prompto’s desperate for it, thirsty and starved and so fucking _needy,_ it’s driving him insane.

 

Even lunch breaks have been stolen from them lately, because even though Noct’s always been good at balancing his school life with the looming, impending reality of his role as the king of the damn nation, duty has been kicking in high gear. Noct’s always open with him – more open than he should be with _anyone –_ but there’s a bunch of political stuff going on, and there are days when Ignis shows up to pick Noct up at noon and he’s gone for the rest of the day.

 

Hell, there’s been days where Noct just _hasn’t_ been at school at all. There was a three day stretch that was absolutely _miserable,_ and Prompto’s become increasingly agitated.

 

Prompto hates it. He’s _sure_ that’s why his moods are so intense lately. He’s always hungry, and he’s increasingly cranky, his dumb, Noctis-deprived brain on a permanent roller coaster of drops and climbs and frantic loops. And yet, lying in bed, he’s always somewhere between desperate horniness – he wants Noct inside him, he wants Noct’s lips on his throat, he wants to _feel_ the hot burst of seed deep inside of him – and frantic loneliness. Sometimes he doesn’t know whether to reach beneath himself, to drag his fingers through the slick coating his inner thighs and sticking to his boxers, or whether to pick up his phone and call Noct and just _listen_ to the sound of his best friend’s voice.

 

He’s bad, this is _bad._

Realistically, it’s been like two weeks since Noct’s rut. _Two weeks_ isn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, and Prompto knows it, but he’s lying in bed, on his stomach, staring mindlessly at a textbook. They have a fuckin’ chemistry midterm the following day, and he’s not going to do well. He should be studying.

 

His stomach has been feeling queasy lately, and Prompto doesn’t know if it’s just all his frustration and nerves condensing and twisting into a physical ailment, or if he’s coming down with something. Everything’s blurred together.

 

He’s trying to read the same paragraph for the third – or is it fourth? – time when his phone vibrates, and he damn near jumps out of his skin. He’d texted Noctis earlier, in an angry burst of frustration, a simple _fuck dude i miss u, when u gonna stop being a future king?_

 

 _u busy?_ Is the simple response – and of course, Noctis does nothing to acknowledge the heavy weight of the invisible crown he’s always wearing, the one that Prompto never stops seeing.

 

 _no, what’s up?_ Prompto thumbs back instantly, his textbook immediately forgotten. Anyone else, and he’d hate how instantly he drops _everything,_ but suddenly his brain is overloading, neurons firing supercharged and heating up his skin. He _misses_ Noct, and Prompto wants to think that it’s mutual.

 

The three dots that indicate Noct is typing seem to go on an eternity.

 

_come study w me?_

 

Prompto’s face splits into a grin. His parents are leaving for a business trip first thing in the morning – a five AM flight – and they’re already in bed. They’ve already said their goodbyes, already stacked their expertly packed luggage neatly by the door, and he’s _free_ to do whatever he wants.

 

 _omw,_ Prompto types back instantly, and he’s already pulling himself out of bed, hips wiggling as he pulls his jeans back on. They’ve always been tight, but they’ve started to feel _too tight_ lately, and Prompto’s cheeks burn bright as it takes a bit of extra maneuvering to get them up over his tummy and buttoned. There’s a brief flare of embarrassment as he twists in front of the mirror to ensure nothing’s hanging over the band – nope, he’s good, just a bit snug – and Prompto almost forgets to actually pack his textbook and his laptop in his backpack in his haste.

_Actually._

_wait,_ he types out, hits send before his impatient, restless mind can even form the full thought.  
  
_we studying?_  
or “studying” ; )  
important details noct  
  
Prompto’s cheeks flush, and he really, _really_ hopes for the second option, though of course any time with Noctis is important. It’s been hard lately, and maybe they shouldn’t fall into mindless, desperate sex. Maybe they should talk. That idea has Prompto’s stomach twisting again, though, and there’s another heavy spike of nausea that leaves him breathless.

 

Prompto’s phone buzzes in his hand and he looks down at Noct’s message.

 

_ugh I wish. iggy’s gonna stop by later. called u a car tho, it’ll be there in 10?_

Talk about mixed fucking messages. Prompto loves it and he hates it and he wants to scream all at the same time. Since _when_ has he been such a royal fucking mess?

 

Probably since he started actually _fucking_ royalty.

 

 _ok,_ he simply texts back, and starts frantically cramming his school uniform into his backpack alongside everything else. Just in case he can stay. He knows he can’t stay, but… The threat of Ignis lurking around – chaperoning them, surely – is intimidating as hell, but Prompto knows he needs to take what he can get. And right now, he just _needs_ to be around Noctis, needs to smell the reassuring scent of alpha ( _his_ alpha, his mind fills in, even if it shouldn’t) – and that’s enough that Prompto will do anything.

 

 _Anything_ is a terrifying, deadly thought, but isn’t it the fucking truth?

 

\---

 

The moment Noct’s door opens, there’s a strange, heavy _relief_ that floods through Prompto’s body, warming him to the very core. It’d been an easy ride over, at least – and Ignis hadn’t been the one to pick him up, thank fucking god – and Prompto’s just glad to be here. He’s especially glad to see the indulgent smile on Noct’s face, to _smell_ the deep, relaxing scent of his alpha, and that’s all Prompto needs.

 

“Hey,” Noct grins, and the door’s barely nudged shut again behind them before Prompto’s outright falling into his arms.

“Noct,” Prompto’s well aware he sounds _desperate,_ and he’s well aware he’s practically clinging as he tightens his arms around Noct’s shoulders, as he presses his face into the soft, warm junction of his best friend’s throat and shoulder. It’s nice here, it smells _good,_ and it feels even better. Fuck, all the anxiety ebbs away, because Noct’s arms curl around his waist, hands skim over his hips, and—

 

Something close to a fucking wracking _sob_ tries to claw its way out of Prompto’s throat, and he flushes deeper, pushes it deep down and tries not to focus on just how stupid and haywire his emotions are. They see each other daily, and even if they haven’t had _this,_ it’s not like it’s owed to him, it’s not like he should need it so badly.

 

“Missed you,” Noctis mumbles against Prompto’s hair, though, and there’s a deep twisting in his chest, a feeling of _belonging,_ and maybe it’s mutual. Prompto hopes it’s mutual. Either way, Noct holds on, doesn’t let go for a long moment, until finally, he draws back.

 

“… sorry I’m so clingy,” Prompto offers up, and he does his best to laugh it off, tries his best to brighten the mood with a playful little smile. His backpack’s hanging off one shoulder, and he kicks his shoes off as Noct takes a step back.

 

If Noct minds that he’s clingy, he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he simply shrugs, and Prompto can _see_ the lines of exhaustion on Noct’s face, the dark circles under his eyes that indicate he’s not getting nearly enough sleep. Prompto wants to tug Noct to bed. He wants to get them both naked, and he wants to press his best friend to the mattress and get on top of him and ride him until they’re both sated and exhausted and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

 

There’s a flicker of something – heat, maybe? – as their eyes meet, and Noct’s lips quirk up into a matching smile, though there’s something else there, too.

 

“My fault. Been… busy,” he sighs, and he doesn’t elaborate. Prompto’s in a weird place – he likes to tease Noct, likes to poke fun at his role, at how _important_ his best friend is, as the future king. Asking for actual, real, honest-to-god details, though? Prompto knows what it’s like to keep secrets. He’s harbored a weird, intense crush (turned into outright _love_ ) for his best friend for years, after all.

 

“Wanna talk about it?” he settles with saying, instead.

 

Noctis doesn’t answer right away. He watches though, with narrowed eyes, as Prompto shrugs out of his coat and unslings his backpack, making himself at home. Maybe he shouldn’t – and there’s a little flare of anxiety that Prompto stomps out instantly, because nothing has really changed, right? – but here they are, and Noct’s not stopping him.

 

“I don’t want to think about it,” Noctis admits, after a moment, and Prompto nods.

 

“What _do_ you wanna do, Noct?” he asks, and the question hangs between them, open and promising and terrifying. Noctis doesn’t answer that right away, either, and Prompto doesn’t know _what_ that means, or if it means anything at all, or maybe he’s overthinking—

 

Noctis laughs quietly, though, and his eyes narrow a little further. Fuck, he smells _good,_ and Prompto’s body is starting to go haywire. He’s pretty sure there’s a little rush of slick between his thighs, rising in the air between them, wetting his boxers, and _oh,_ this is going to go just where he wants it to—

 

Noctis breathes in heavily, but he tenses, and takes a step back, sighing. “… Iggy’s coming by in a bit,” he reminds Prompto, and the disappointment between them is tangible. “And I haven’t had a chance to study. I… we should probably get to that.”

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, and it’s stupid, the way he’s blinking back _tears,_ because what the fuck is wrong with him?! He’s always been good at bouncing back, always been good at accepting the fact that he’s hopelessly in love, and that’s okay. This is stupid – Noct’s clearly interested, it’s just a matter of things being stupid, of the world getting in the way, so why is it suddenly so hard to tamp down the heaviness in his chest?

 

They curl up a little too close to each other on the couch anyway, though, textbooks open between them. And, all things considered, they _are_ studying. It should be a distraction, having Noctis so close, being all wrapped up in the heady scent of alpha, but… somehow, it’s calming.

 

Prompto’s pretty sure their bodies shouldn’t be in-tune. It’s not like they bonded. But Noct’s got an arm casually around his waist, and it’s an anchor, a grounding point that quells the frantic beating of Prompto’s heart, that pushes away the tightness in his chest.

 

They’re in the middle of reading each other questions off flashcards that are written in neat, looping letters that clearly don’t belong to Noctis. Prompto wants to joke – _who the fuck uses flashcards these days?_ But the obvious answer, of course, is that Ignis does, and it’s his writing, and… well, it’s _working._ He might stand a chance at actually passing this midterm.

 

Noct, of course, knows all the answers, and Prompto knows it’s because of the _perfection_ that’s weighing down his shoulders heavily, at all times. He knows he’s been a bad influence lately, that Noct has to work extra hard after missing school to curl up with him, to share heats and ruts, and that makes him feel guilty.

 

“… hey,” Noctis mumbles, once they make it through the stack of cards and fall into a comfortable silence again. “I wanted to say sorry.”

 

Prompto blinks. He’s a mess of emotion. His stomach is doing flips, because he feels _good and safe,_ and he knows he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t be relying so heavily on Noct’s presence to keep him steady and feeling this way. He knows he can’t get attached, but he’s _miserably_ attached, and it’s going to ruin him, break his heart, and absolutely be the death of him. And it’s all wrapped up with that guilt – the knowledge that he’s pushing Noct too far, that he’s pulled him into this mess. Noctis doesn’t need this burden on top of everything, and –

 

“You’re sorry? What for?” Prompto frowns, chewing his lip. Noct has nothing to be sorry for – this is all _his_ fault, he’s spiraling out of control, he’s a hot mess and maybe this is it, maybe Noct’s going to tell him it’s gone too far, and oh no –

 

“Prom?” Noct’s voice snaps him out of it, and Prompto realizes, abruptly, that he’s trembling.

 

“… fuck,” Prompto flushes, shaking his head, clearing his thoughts. “Dude. Noct. I’m a mess. _You_ have nothing to apologize for, I get it—”

 

“Your heat,” Noctis says, abruptly, interrupting Prompto’s thoughts, and immediately forcing him into a confused silence. His heat? What? Is Noct about to apologize for staying through it? They’ve been through this, they’ve worked through it, Prompto’s pretty sure.

 

“What about it?” he asks quietly, fidgeting, fingers fiddling with the edge of the flashcards stacked up on the couch cushion against his thigh.

 

“… I missed it,” Noctis frowns slowly, his voice a little quiet, uncertain, as if he’s confused that he has to explain. Fuck, they’ve always been bad at communication, haven’t they? It’s almost laughable, though Prompto has to admit. He still doesn’t quite follow. The confusion must be evident on his face, because Noct continues.

 

“It’s been… a while, right? Since we’ve seen each other. I missed your heat, and… I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone. I was waiting but— I missed a few days and when I came back you smelled… _different,_ and…”

 

Noctis trails off, and suddenly he’s flushing, and looking away, fingers digging into Prompto’s hip fiercely and intensely. It’s a strange moment – Prompto’s overwhelmed, quite suddenly, by a frantic rush of emotion.

 

There’s a fierce, soul-deep surge of outright _love,_ appreciation, because Noctis cares. Noct cares about his well-being, and he’s clearly been just as miserable as Prompto has. That means so much more than it should. It means everything, and Prompto’s grinning brightly, his heart swelling and pounding in his chest. It’s the best feeling in the world, and nothing can ruin this, nothing _ever,_ except…

 

Except he _hasn’t_ had a heat, and suddenly, Prompto’s whole body goes cold, a wash of _dread_ surging through him and twisting at the very base of his spine.

 

Fuck. Oh. Fuck. He’s been so caught up in his own issues that he hadn’t thought—Noct’s rut came and went, and it’s been _weeks,_ and his heat was due and in his haze, Prompto had completely ignored that—

 

“Prom?” Noct’s voice is gentle, though, and the awkward silence breaks. “… you’re not mad, are you? Fuck, I’ll make it up to you—”

 

“It’s fine,” Prompto says quietly, and if his voice is turning the slightest bit hysterical, he does his damn best to frantically hide it. “No, Noct, don’t worry about it, we’ve just both been really busy, it’s _fine—”_

 

He should tell him, Prompto _knows._ He should fucking tell Noctis that he hasn’t had a heat, that suddenly he’s hit with the full reality of the situation, but of course, at that fucking moment, there’s a _click_ and the front door opens and Prompto’s instinctively shuffling away, putting a few respectable inches between them.

 

“Noctis,” Ignis’s voice is almost – _almost –_ a relief, washing over the situation and pulling Noct’s attention away from him. Prompto shrinks back, and fuck, if he wasn’t suddenly feeling guilty and dizzy and confused and _there’s no fucking way, right?_

 

Noctis sighs, and Prompto barely hears it. “We’re studying, don’t worry,” he reassures Ignis, and for once, it’s _actually_ true and not just a shoddy excuse for video games and movie marathons and way too much physical affection. The textbooks and study materials scattered across the couch and coffee table is enough evidence of that.

 

“I see,” Ignis agrees, though he sounds a little less than thrilled that Prompto is there. Or, Prompto thinks, though the whole scene is playing out as if he’s underwater – everything is skewed, his perception is off, and the icy-cold panic is gripping at him tighter, dragging him even deeper, the surface so far away.

 

“Something smells good,” Noctis comments, tipping his head back. “You bring dinner, Iggy?”

 

Prompto tries to breathe. He’s forgotten what it’s like to breathe – and when he does, the scent of something greasy washes over him, and—

 

Fuck, it’s the greasy Chinese joint down the corner. He _loves_ that place, and Prompto opens his mouth to say as much, but suddenly, he’s smacked right in the face with a harsh wave of nausea. No words come out, just a pained, frantic sound. His stomach churns, and the quick dinner he’d shared with his parents a few hours earlier suddenly feels like it’s going to burst up his throat, hot and acrid and disgusting—

 

He _should_ say something, but instead, Prompto’s leaping up off the couch – sending the flashcards and their notes falling off the cushions and floating through the air – and making a mad dash into the bathroom. He has the presence of mind to slam the door shut, and then his face is suddenly buried in the toilet bowl as everything comes up, as the hot mess of his dinner mixed with bile and the soda they’ve been sipping at. There’s tears mixing with the sheen of sweat trickling down Prompto’s cheeks, and his hair is _just_ long enough to get in the way, all matted and wet at the tips with saliva.

 

“Prom?” Noct’s voice is at the bathroom door, hesitant, and Prompto _wants_ to whimper and tell Noct to leave him alone, but when the door cracks open, his façade breaks. His shoulders heave, and his fingers grip at the edge of the toilet bowl so hard they feel numb.

 

“… fuck, Prom, are you okay?” Noctis kneels down next to him, and Prompto wants to say _yes_ because the scent of _alpha_ is instantly comforting, but instead, he’s ducking his face back down, heaving up whatever the fuck is even _left_ in his damn stomach. It’s harsh and horrible and he’s cramping and what the hell is even _happening?_

“Just… stress,” Prompto pants out, a moment later, groaning and resting his head heavily against the side of the toilet. Noct’s hand is settled at the base of his neck, rubbing at the tight, tense knot that’s formed there, and _that_ feels good. Noctis doesn’t deserve this, Prompto thinks idly, he doesn’t deserve a best friend who’s making a mess of his bathroom, who’s needy and clingy and freaking the fuck out—

 

“Hey, it’s okay. Seeing Iggy’s ugly face makes _me_ want to vomit on a good day, too,” Noctis says idly, and Prompto manages a choked laugh. It’s stupid, and it’s mean, but it’s _enough,_ and suddenly they’re both laughing a little. He sounds like an idiot – coughing, laughing, half-puking again, but Noct’s _here,_ and for a moment, things feel _normal_ again.

 

“You’re certain you want to eat?” Ignis asks a little later, eyeing Prompto critically as he dishes out the food onto clean plates. Figures, Ignis is the only person in the world who bothers to pick up cartoned Chinese food and then fucking _plates_ it. When it’s just the two of them, they’re always digging right into the boxes, but it’s decidedly _not_ the two of them.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto flushes a little, but his stomach is growling again. Apparently his body is just as fucking confused as the rest of him, because he’s _starving._ “Just… nerves. I get this way before tests, y’know?”

 

The way Ignis eyes him makes Prompto shrink down a little into his chair. He’s freshly showered and changed into some of Noct’s clothing, though, and it’s _warm_ and smells like his alpha. That’s comforting. He’s comforted, too, by the way Noct’s pulled up a chair _way_ too close to his, by the way Noct’s hand is on his shoulder, by the dark looks he keeps shooting in Ignis’s direction.

 

If Prompto didn’t know better – he’d think that Noctis is being protective, _possessive_ even, and the deep satisfaction that’s providing is terrifying. Prompto wants Noct like this always, doting on him, taking care of him, pushing the world away—ignoring everything for _him._

 

“Understandable,” is all Ignis says, before setting down two plates in front of them. “I’ll stay to drive you home.”

 

“We’re gonna be up late,” Noctis says instantly.

 

“And your place is a _mess._ It will take me hours to clean,” Ignis says lightly, and Prompto groans. He knows where this is going, and he opens his mouth to protest – but immediately, Noct’s lifting up his chopsticks and shoving a mouthful of food into his mouth. Prompto’s cheeks flush, and his chest tightens, and he feels warm and happy and _giddy,_ despite the argument going on around him. Fuck, he likes Noct taking care of him.

 

“Ignis,” Noctis says, his voice hardening, even as his eyes are soft when they meet Prompto’s.

 

“Noctis. Non-negotiable,” Ignis says back, in return, and Prompto bristles, because he fucking can _feel_ the energy rising in the room, the way Noct’s shoulders tense, the way his posture stiffens, and god, this fucking night has already turned into an intense mess, he can’t stand fighting—

 

“Noct,” Prompto mumbles, and he slides a hand down to grip at Noct’s thigh, fingers digging into the firm muscle. He doesn’t expect much to come of it, but Noctis _immediately_ starts to relax, and there’s a strange moment where Prompto can fucking feel the tension ebb away, and he’s confused, he doesn’t understand it—

 

Ignis apparently does, though, because there’s the deep sound of him sighing. He lifts a hand to his face and rubs at his forehead as he settles down into a chair across from the pair.

 

“… a compromise?” Ignis offers, quietly, after a moment. “I’m _incredibly_ busy this weekend. I _may_ not notice if any unruly princes wanted to shirk their duties for a couple of days.”

 

Prompto blinks. There’s heat spreading across his cheeks, and there’s a strange _closeness_ to Noctis as the two of them sit there, as if being around Noct is all he needs—and, vice-versa, as if it’s all Noct needs, too. He’s pretty sure Ignis doesn’t have to do this, but…

 

“Okay,” Noctis agrees, quietly. “Yeah.”

 

They eat mostly in silence, and under the table, Noct’s fingers tangle with Prompto’s. Somehow, that little gesture is all it takes to have Prompto’s heart pounding wildly, to have him grinning like a fucking idiot, sneaking little glances at his best friend. And, somehow, it’s pushed all the fucking terror and fear away. Deep down, it still exists. Deep down, Prompto knows that _something is horribly wrong,_ but…

 

Denial is strong, and he’s always been good at it. Fuck, Prompto’s been able to pretend he isn’t in love with his best friend for years, hasn’t he?

 

Later, when Ignis drives him home, there’s a moment, as they pass the pharmacy near Prompto’s parent’s house, when it spikes up again. There’s a horrible, terrible, anxious moment where Prompto opens his mouth to speak, to ask Ignis to pull over because he just needs to run in for a _moment,_ just needs to buy something… for peace of mind, of course.

 

Prompto doesn’t say it, though, because Ignis is already giving him _looks,_ already seems like there’s words at the tip of his tongue.

 

And. Besides. Prompto’s being stupid. He’s panicking anyway, right?

 

“Thanks for the food, Ignis,” Prompto mumbles, when the car rolls up in front of his house. “… and. For everything else.”

 

Ignis shrugs, and he turns in his seat. “Prompto. I know I’m not easy to approach, but… if there’s anything you want to talk about. I _am_ very good at keeping secrets. And…”

 

There’s a pause, and for a moment, Prompto’s heart leaps up into his throat, as the older boy eyes him, pondering his words for a moment. Ignis pushes his glasses up his nose, and tips his head back, and sighs. “… I just want to see Noctis happy. And… I think his idea of happiness differs greatly from my own.”

 

Prompto doesn’t know what to say to that. He flushes brightly – and he’s grateful for the darkness to hide that. Ducking his head down, he barely even realizes a hand is lifting to rub at the side of his neck, at the soft, unmarked skin there.

 

“I—” Prompto starts to say, and he immediately bites his tongue, thinks better of it, and shuts his fucking mouth. He _can’t_ tell Ignis, because if he says the words, it’s going to be real. As soon as he voices it, it’s game over. Prompto knows how his mind works, and he knows that as soon as he talks about it, there’s no going back. Until then, it’s just his stupid paranoia, and he can talk himself out of it.

 

Besides, if Ignis _knows_ they’ve been messing around, been having unprotected sex… he might not let Prompto back in, and he’s already conceding, already making great allowances on Noct’s behalf. Prompto can’t fuck up this strange little bit of happiness they’re being granted.

 

“Thanks for the ride,” Prompto says quietly, instead, and he’s already unbuckling his seat belt and sliding out of the car. If Ignis has anything else he wants to say, he lets it go, though he sits in front of Prompto’s house until he’s inside, until the front door is locked and the lights turned on.

 

And if Prompto wants to make the walk down the street to the pharmacy after all, he ignores the urge. It’s dumb. It’s paranoia, and… well? Honestly? It’s a good fucking deal of wishful thinking. That’s probably the worst part of it all – because now that the _dread_ has washed away, now that he’s really thinking on it, a hand creeps over his belly, protectively and lovingly.

 

It’s just his schedule being so fucked up that’s got him all out of sorts. It’s the stress of not being near the alpha he _wants_ to be bonded to, it’s the school work, it’s the change in his diet and the lack of exercise, and Prompto knows it.

 

But… if there was a _real_ reason he’d missed his heat, would it be so bad?

 

 _cant wait to see u this weekend,_ Prompto types out on his phone, as he crawls into bed. He misses Noctis, but he’s still wearing his best friend’s clothes, and it _smells_ like alpha, like his alpha. That’s enough that maybe he’ll actually get some sleep tonight.

 

A hand is still pressing over his belly when Prompto’s phone buzzes against his ear. _get some sleep, idiot_ , the text reads. Prompto grins, and then there’s another buzz, and a heart emoji is on the screen, and he feels like he’s going to explode.

 

Fuck, Prompto misses Noctis. He _loves_ Noctis, and that’s all that matters, right?

 

Denial is a very strong emotion, after all. Maybe even stronger than love itself.

 

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... fuck did i really go 6 weeks without updating again? I'M SO SORRY.
> 
> i switched positions at work which was a learning curve. then i ran a bunch of races, then i had social obligations, then i went on vacation and ran more races and then got sick.
> 
> and for those who follow me on twitter: the real reason is the marvel cinematic universe, I'M SORRY I CHEATED ON PROMPTIS WITH STUCKY I'M SO SORRRRY. the real MVP of this chapter is UnsteadyGenius. She buckled in for a solid few hours of writing sprints with me until I churned this out. Thank you, Megan, I love you. <3 
> 
> i'll try to be better about updates. I AM SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTERS HNNNG. thanks for waiting for me and thanks for still reading! i'm on twitter @thatdest , and i absolutely live for your feedback, your comments and kudos and every nice thing anyone has ever said!! <3


End file.
